Fall Down From the Sky
by Mytay
Summary: Herein one can find: conspiring Warblers, Kurt aching for his days in a McKinley choir room, his discovery that he can be sexy, Blaine's family and their issues, and the continuing awesomeness of the Hudson-Hummels. Follow-up to Moondust and Starlight.
1. Chapter 1

**Fall Down From the Sky**

**By:** Mytay

**Rating:** M – It starts off mostly with teenagers, being teenagers, and a string of frank and awkward conversations dealing with . . . well, awkwardness frankly ;) But then, in the last chapter, we get a little action to go with those awkward conversations, which is what makes this story an 'M' :D

**Summary: **Follow-up to _Moondust and Starlight_. Herein one can find conspiring Warblers, Kurt's discovery that he can be sexy, aching for his days in a McKinley choir room, Blaine's family and their issues, and the continuing awesomeness of the Hudson-Hummels.

Basically: the beginning of Kurt and Blaine's relationship as they ease into it and try to figure out just what it means to be someone's boyfriend, with a moderate dash of added drama.

**Spoilers: **Everything up to and including Season 2, Episode 16, _Original Songs._

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor claim to own, anything Glee related in what follows.

**Warnings: **None that I can think of, other than some more fluff, a few embarrassing conversations, intense instances of angst, and copious amounts of family/friend bonding. And **FLUFF**! Of all sorts: the kind between friends, family, and boyfriends! Consider yourself warned ;)

**Note: **I don't think you need to read _Moondust and Starlight _to understand this story, though this tale will refer to situations in that one (at times directly). But feel free to read on, if you do not wish to read this story's prequel.

**To my lovely readers of my WIPs: **I _swear _I'm working on them – and _this_ story is _NOT_ a work-in-progress – it is, in fact, _complete_. All that remains is proofreading/editing each part before I post.

This story is my "oh my God, I'm FINALLY DONE my essays! YAY!" celebration – I started it while procrastinating hopelessly on those essays, and then finished it up this week after handing in my last one. Hopefully, more chapters for my other stories will now follow :)

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 1**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kurt suspected there was a conspiracy in their midst. However, he wasn't looking too closely at the root of this mystery, as its consequences were empty closets and secret hallways where he could make out with his boyfriend whenever the mood struck him – which was often. Very often. Near constant.

"I think Wes is the instigator, to be honest."

Kurt had been trying to even out his breathing because while one can breathe and kiss at the same time, doing so for an extended period can lead to a general lack of oxygen to one's brain. Especially if one skips the breathing part because their boyfriend does something absolutely _spectacular_ with his tongue that renders breathing a secondary concern to the _kissing_.

He looked up at Blaine from his reclined position – they were sitting on a large desk in an empty, never-used classroom. The desk had been shoved into a corner, hidden behind a clutter of chairs and globes and old chalkboards on wheels. It had been the cleanest thing in the room and thus became their main make-out spot.

"You think so?"

"Yeah. I think he got fed up with us sneaking out early from practice –"

"Or arriving late," Kurt added with a self-satisfied smirk.

"And is attempting to give us as many opportunities alone as he can. For the good of the Warblers."

Kurt pursed his lips in thought. "It _has_ worked. And, while not quite as comfortable as common room couches, we never get interrupted in here – or in the closets . . . I wonder if he has the Warblers keeping watch on these places."

"What, you mean, like . . . 'page Blaine and Kurt, free closet in second floor hallway'?"

"Exactly."

Blaine's arms were tight around Kurt, who put his head back against Blaine's chest, eyes falling shut. His boyfriend laughed after a few minutes contemplation. "Oh wow. That is precisely what they're doing, isn't it? I can't decide if that's creepy . . . or awesome."

Kurt hummed his agreement, eyes fluttering shut. It had been a long and exhausting day; he'd had two tests, a presentation, and so much note-taking that his fingers were cramped and he had a callous forming along where his pen pressed against the ring finger of his right hand. Moreover, while marathon making-out sessions were by their very definition _awesome_, they could be tiring in their own right.

They had been discussing what to do with the half an hour between their last class and the Warblers' meeting, when David had casually suggested they wander off for some alone time before said meeting – _"Go on and do whatever you need to be focused and attentive,"_ were his exact words. Kurt was even more certain of his theory, based on David's somewhat smug look. Not only were Blaine and Kurt more likely to show up on time and stay the duration, but they were also _less_ likely to spend the meeting ignoring the Council by sneaking small pecks, stroking each others' hands, and generally behaving like utter fools in love.

It made him want to giggle. All the time. And smiling, there had been lots of smiling – it was straining his facial muscles daily. He was in serious danger of developing laugh lines before he was thirty.

Blaine sighed heavily. "Kurt, we've got to go."

Kurt groaned softly, then pressed a quick kiss to Blaine's chest through his shirt (their blazers lay discarded on a nearby chair). "Not inclined to move right now. Sorry."

"I think our fellow Warblers' conspiracy to aid us in our . . . plight, will be put on hold if it doesn't yield the results they want."

Kurt made a discontented noise, but slowly sat up, straightening hair and tie as he went. He pouted slightly, and Blaine swooped in, kissing him hard, sucking Kurt's lower lip into his mouth. _Crap, that's not fair, _he thought with little annoyance because Kurt _knew_ how to fight back now. Blaine was pressed against him in no time at all, a low rumble in his throat as Kurt put his newfound frenching skills to good use. He started a mental timer in his own head: _five, four, three, two, one_.

"_Okay_," Blaine gasped out, practically ripping himself off and away from Kurt – then he reached for his blazer, whipping it on and trying to subtly tug it down, under the pretense of straightening it. Kurt just rolled his eyes, reaching for his own uniform jacket. Blaine coughed. "We've seriously got to stop now, otherwise we're going to be very late."

Now, Kurt was unreasonably, over-the-damn-moon happy. Blaine was incredible in many, many ways. But months of being friends with the boy had alerted Kurt to a fair few of his faults as well. Namely, his mistaken assumption that he had to be perfect and charming at _all times,_ even when getting sweaty and disheveled with his boyfriend.

Kurt was shy about sex and sexuality in general. He still had trouble believing that he was appealing. That being said, he had an idea that Blaine, at least, found him attractive. There was _physical_ evidence of this fact, amongst other obvious indicators. What Kurt was having trouble with was Blaine's reticence to acknowledge said physical evidence. It was never '_Kurt, we need to stop because this is going a little too far_' or '_Sorry, it's a bit much for me, can we slow down?_' No, it was '_oh, I think I heard your, dad,'_ or '_damn, I thought for sure my phone was ringing,'_ or, Kurt's personal favourite, '_sorry, too much diet Pepsi at lunch – let me take a quick bathroom break.'_

At first, Kurt was fine with this – because, again, his inner thoughts tended to stop him with a quick _hello, embarrassment, let's just not talk about these things, okay?_ The first time Kurt had _felt_ the evidence, he'd blushed so hard he could feel actual heat radiating off his face. It took a long while for him to stop mildly freaking out in his own head – was it wrong that he didn't react as strongly in the physical sense, and did that physical reaction mean Blaine was ready for more _right this second_? And on and on his mind would whir.

But now, with a crash course in making-out spread out over several weeks, he'd become deliciously familiar with the sensations and noises that resulted from spending hours exploring each other's mouths. He understood the most basic biological concepts even before his education via pamphlets and awkward conversations with his father, and while having in-depth discussions about them wasn't high on his list of things to do, it was getting slightly frustrating to have Blaine backtrack any time things got heated. Kurt was a boy, too – and it was as if Blaine was treating him like a fragile princess, removed from and far above these sexual urges. Sometimes, Blaine would call a halt _before_ anything even really happened, for whatever reason.

A touch of the hand was nice, even lovely. It was romantic. But Kurt was also coming to appreciate moments that ended with him thinking '_holy hell, never stop sucking on my neck – like, ever!_' If only Blaine would _get _that just because Kurt didn't know everything there was to know about sex, and just because it still made him blush stupidly, that didn't mean he was totally oblivious to such _obvious_ . . . His mind rebelled against thinking about it directly again. _Gah, why is this so complicated? Good grief, _he complained to himself.

"Kurt, you all right over there?"

Kurt sighed out his frustration, and focused on the happy again – it really wasn't that hard to do so. "Yes, I'm fine. Shall we get to practice? I'm absolutely dying to watch Wes and David do their version of _New York, New York_. Which seems a little tasteless considering we're not, you know, _going_."

Blaine laughed. "Yeah, but I prefer to consider it a 'we'll do it next year' sort of a celebration. Had New Directions not gone with original songs, we totally would've won that thing."

Kurt suspected their loss had more to do with their not quite up-to-par vocals in their duet (_heh_, he couldn't really regret the reason behind that) and Miss Tea Party member. However, he was so proud of his old Glee club that he didn't let that latter dark thought sit for long.

New Directions absolutely _killed it._ Afterwards, when both he and Finn got home, he all but spun Kurt around the room, giddy about their win (and then apologized profusely about being less than sensitive about Kurt's _not _winning in his usual sincere-but-awkward manner). His stepbrother told him, with all seriousness, that his locker shoving line was all about Kurt, and if Kurt had still been with them, it would have been _his_ line to sing. The ever-present ache in Kurt's chest, whenever he thought of New Directions, thrummed painfully. _God, _he _missed_ them.

Kurt fiddled with the strap of his bag and held the door open for Blaine. Once they were out in the hall, he grabbed his boyfriend's hand as they walked towards the stairs. Blaine smiled at nothing in particular, Kurt could see it out of the corner of his eye, which of course, made him grin in turn. _Ow_. Facial muscles objecting again.

They made it to Warblers' practice with a minute to spare – probably mussed enough to make their previous activity quite obvious, but no one really reacted to that anymore. Kurt had heard tell of an on-going bet that resulted in Jeff winning an obscene amount of money, but as of yet, the rumour was unsubstantiated. That being said, Jeff was unbearably enthusiastic about Kurt and Blaine's relationship. He winked at them as they sat down on the couch together.

"Kurt, we were thinking you take the lead on this one, and Blaine, Nick and Jeff can take lead on . . ."

Kurt felt a slight crack in his neck as he jerked his head up, looking at Wes in total shock. Blaine squeezed his hand, shaking with suppressed laughter as Kurt gaped soundlessly. Wes' mouth was twisted up into that same cocky little smile he'd given Kurt a few weeks ago when they'd all voted to give him the duet with Blaine.

"A part of me can't help but feel that they're doing this as payment for my being Prince Consort to King Warbler," he muttered into Blaine's ear as a great deal of loud discussion broke out over patterned ties.

Blaine snorted, the sound going unnoticed by the arguing Warblers. "Please. They're just finally acknowledging your unspeakably _amazing_ talent. And not only yours – check out my shared lead with two other Warblers. You've brought about some serious change, Kurt. Feel proud."

Kurt did feel rather proud – while it had been Blaine who had insisted on changing things up a little, Kurt knew that his intentional blows to Blaine's well-ordered world of endless solos had been instrumental to that. His own version of a smug, yet happy grin was overtaking him now, and Blaine spoke lowly in his ear, "Stop it. You get that same look after you've managed to kiss me into oblivion."

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Blaine?" Kurt had no idea his voice could, well, _purr_ like that. Interesting.

As was Blaine's instant reaction to it, namely to jerk slightly in his seat, sliding the barest inch away, while still holding tightly to Kurt's hand. Kurt couldn't help but wonder at this reaction. Really? That was all it took? Why? Blaine could easily provoke Kurt into kissing him into a wall (couch, desk etc.) with a few choice words in a certain tone, but Kurt hadn't stopped to consider the fact that he may have the same power. Again, he understood that Blaine was attracted to him, that Blaine _wanted_ to kiss him . . . but he didn't know how much of that was due to Kurt _being_ Kurt, versus Kurt _looking_ or _sounding_ like Kurt.

Was he _that_ attractive? He didn't really think so – not in comparison to Blaine's looks, at any rate. He was just so _handsome,_ whereas Kurt was . . . _unique_. Feminine. Even baby-faced. He could appreciate individual aspects of himself: his complexion (which he worked hard for), his eyes, his perfectly coiffed hair, his flawless fashion sense, but when combined on a whole, he wasn't sure that it was something truly _appealing_.

Perhaps Blaine wasn't the only one with a problem. And Kurt wasn't sure how to communicate this particular issue either or even if it really was an issue.

_Forget it, focus on the happy_. That wasn't hard at all, with the warm fingers and hand of his boyfriend settled so comfortably in his own.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

He didn't know what possessed him to do it – he normally avoided potentially embarrassing moments like one would avoid plague-infested rats. But, for some reason, instead of asking Finn during one of their evenings-with-glass-of-warm-milk, or picking up the phone and calling Mercedes, Tina (who had a _boyfriend_ and thus maybe some actual knowledge on this), or even Quinn (who he'd heard some not-nice things about from the two girls previous, and it was making him think some kind of intervention might be needed), he was sitting next to his dad on the couch, blushing like crazy, and trying to spit out exactly what was bothering him.

He used to be _so good_ at deflection, but one side-long look from his father, a soft, "You okay, Kurt? You look a little . . . down," and he was lost. Maybe sitting down while his father was watching sports highlights was a big indicator of something amiss, because he _never_ did that. Finn had taken one look at Kurt's face, and then quietly informed them he was going to hit the sack early.

Once Finn was gone, his father repeated the question, and Kurt parted his lips, thought long and hard about what he wanted to say, and then blurted out, "Dad, it's a sex thing!"

He felt his father tense up instantly, and his head whipped towards Kurt so fast it was actually a little alarming. Kurt pressed his lips together, as if trying to prevent further humiliation from tumbling out, and then rolled his eyes skyward – _hello God-I-don't-believe in, it's me, Kurt. Pretend you're the benevolent father your followers declare you to be and STOP DOING THIS TO ME._

"Um, what?" was his dad's eloquent response. Kurt really couldn't blame him for that.

He sighed through his nose, and then tried again, with a greater degree of success. "I . . . have something I need to ask you about . . . well, sex."

His father blinked for a long moment, and then turned on the couch to face Kurt, speaking quickly and urgently, "Kurt, you've only been with Blaine for a few weeks, barely over a month, you can't –"

"No, no, dad. A world of _no_. I promise." Kurt hastened to correct his father's assumption, because this was already embarrassing enough.

He didn't relax much, but a bit of the tension left his frame. "Okay. Okay. So, what's your question?"

"I, um, I . . . Blaine and I have been . . ." Kurt stared up at the ceiling, over at the TV, now turned off, and down at his shoes. "We kiss. A lot. And that's all. And that's enough, for me. But, a few times, when we've been . . ." _Trying to crawl into each other's mouths._ "Kissing, Blaine's been . . . into it, shall we say? And it sort of . . . freaked me out, a little."

His father inhaled deeply. "Kid, you gotta gimme a little more than that. Has he been pressuring you or something? Or is it all going a little too –"

"No, no, none of that. It's really silly, actually, because it's perfectly _normal_, but . . ."

Perhaps there was a God after all, because his father suddenly got it, his eyebrows shooting up, and his mouth opening in a silent 'oh.' "Well, um, Kurt, you know that's normal so why . . ."

"I don't know! Maybe because he always pulls away, or makes up some excuse, and it's like he can't even bring himself to acknowledge it, let alone talk to me about it. And a part of me wonders if maybe he's trying to, I don't know, _protect_ me. Another is doubting myself, because I . . ." _I think I know what's normal, but maybe I'm wrong?_

His father let him lapse into silence, his eyes narrowing as he thought quietly to himself. Kurt plucked miserably at a nearby blanket; he wanted to resign as a teenager, as a boyfriend, _from life_, because here he was seeking relationship and sex advice from his _father_.

"Kurt, when you're with Blaine and you're . . . doing the kissing thing, how do you feel?"

Kurt blinked in surprise at the question, and shot a glance over, uncertain and fairly incredulous. His dad smiled, albeit tentatively. "It's all right, kiddo, I'm not gonna run away screaming. You be as honest as you need to."

Kurt managed to regain control of his vocal chords, and made sure to take his time in replying.

"I feel happy, first and foremost. I think about how good it feels, and how I could do this, just this, forever. And that Blaine is amazing. And that I never want to stop kissing him. Sometimes it's overwhelming, but when it gets to be too much I just . . . sing, in my head. It helps, weirdly enough, because I'm happy and singing stupid love songs in my head . . . and yes, that's everything."

His father stared at him with something like awe, the smile more genuine. He sounded full of affection when he said, "Really, kiddo? That's . . . really nice, Kurt. And do you, um, ever . . ." His father lifted his hand, and then dropped it before he could make any gesture that would likely mortify them both.

"Yes," Kurt admitted, ignoring the redness in this cheeks, because really, at this juncture? What was the _point_? "But not like . . . it was like, Blaine was ready . . . to go. Right that moment. And it scared me. And is there something wrong with me that I'm not that . . ." He grit his teeth and said it. "_Turned on_?"

To his dad's credit, he didn't react dramatically to that; he only shook his head, explaining gently, "Kurt, I think you are, you just have some truly unbelievable self-control. Finn'd be jealous." Kurt choked, almost raising his hands to his ears, and his father's eyes went wide. "Crap. Pretend you didn't hear that."

"Already done." Kurt waved it off, as if banishing it into nonexistence.

His dad took a second, grimacing, and then continued. "Um, what I'm saying is that, you're perfectly normal. You're scared to go too fast, but you want Blaine to be happy too. And Blaine, it sounds like, is as scared as you are. That's why he keeps turning tail and running every time. Just because he's . . . yeah, it doesn't mean he wants sex right then, it's his body reacting . . . Anyways, you're _both_ normal. And, uh, not to . . . but Kurt, eventually you're gonna get to the point Blaine's at now. That is, not really able to stop your body from . . . and that's fine. You just make sure you _both_ know where the line is, and things will be okay."

And for whatever reason, Kurt truly believed his father when he said that. He let loose a long breath. "Okay. Thanks, dad. Sorry for, um, general awkwardness."

His father snorted. "Don't apologize, kiddo, I'm thinking we're gonna have a few more of these talks in the future, and it's not something I ever want you to feel ashamed about. _Thank you_, for coming to me."

Kurt felt his lips tug upward at that, and his father smiled back, reaching to put an arm around his shoulders. "You make me proud, Kurt. And just for the record, I trust you and respect any decisions you make when it comes to Blaine."

Kurt didn't know why, but tears were burning at the backs of his eyes. He nodded wordlessly, smiling at his lap.

"But, uh, that door of yours stays open when he's here. And when Carole and me aren't here? You call one of us to let us know you and Blaine _are_. You got me?"

Kurt nodded again, his head falling to rest against his father's shoulder. "Yeah, dad."

Silence, then, "Anything else, kiddo, since we're kinda on a roll here?"

Kurt considered asking his father about the whole attraction thing, but no matter how he put it in his own mind, it sounded so terribly . . . pathetic. _I want my boyfriend to like me for my body, not just my brains and my personality_. Yeah. No. He shook his head.

His father hugged him close once, and then reached with the other hand for the remote, flicking the television back on. An over-excited announcer immediately began rattling off scores and Kurt winced. "Okay, so I'm going to go upstairs and at the very least mime doing my homework while I call Mercedes – did you need anything from the kitchen or something?"

His father shook his head as Kurt extricated himself from their embrace. "Nah, son, you go and, uh try to actually _do_ something productive."

Kurt laughed. "He said to his son – who's already on the honour roll."

His father grinned in response. "Yeah, but I figure I've gotta get at least one or two of those in before you're beyond my reach."

Kurt rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "All right, dad, I'll get some math done first, _then_ I'll call Mercedes."

His father gave him a thumbs up before becoming fully absorbed in whatever he was watching. Kurt took the stairs slowly, going over his father's words, resolving to discuss this with Blaine. It couldn't be _more_ embarrassing than talking about it with his dad, right?

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **Wheeee! No more essays! *cartwheels, confetti, cake!* I've been on a happy-high for over a week! And _sleeping in_, oh my God, I've forgotten how _glorious _that is! *bounces in chair*

**Fair warning**, this story will get a little more complicated, and most definitely angsty at points - particularly when dealing with Blaine's own set of issues - but I promise that it won't be over-the-top or violent.

AND, I don't normally do this romance-type thing. _Moondust and Starlight _is my only venture into that to date. It was learn-as-you-go in writing this, hopefully it's . . . readable.

Love to everyone who's been so kind and patient in regards to my other stories, and to anyone who's made it to the bottom of his page – all the more gratitude to you if you decide to leave a review as they are most encouraging and provide fuel for proofreading sessions, whether it be praise or constructive criticism! :)


	2. Chapter 2

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 2**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Hey, Kurt, great – I was hoping to catch up with you!" Nick came running up from behind him, a little out of breath but smiling widely. "You have a free period now, right?"

Kurt nodded, tugging his bag close as he shoved in his massive Physics textbook, letting out a noise of discomfort as the weight pulled on his shoulder – he had Physics and American History on the same day, one right after the other, and that meant roughly eighteen hundred pages split between two huge hardcovers. Which, naturally, _sucked_.

"That's awesome – Mr. Detrick had to leave early for a dentist appointment, so his afternoon classes are cancelled." Nick cocked his head. "Blaine's waiting for you in the alcove, off the library."

Kurt stared. Unbelievable. Why hadn't he and Blaine noticed this sooner? _Mind-blowing, brutally blinding euphoria, remember?_ Oh, right. Apparently his brain was recovering from the nuclear blast of happiness, because now the Warblers' ploy was glaringly obvious.

But he hadn't really spoken or seen Blaine since earlier that morning, and lunch had been spent on opposite sides of campus as Kurt helped a young freshman with his French, and Blaine had a meeting with his English teacher to discuss an essay. Now there was a nice, hour-and-change block of time, during which he could do anything – _oh_. Kurt pressed his lips together, considering that maybe he and Blaine could _talk,_ about the . . . thing he'd discussed with his dad.

Suddenly, he wasn't in such a great hurry to get there, and he took his time in thanking Nick (he accompanied said gratitude with a raised eyebrow of I-know-what-you're-doing, which had Nick breaking eye contact and rushing off for his next class with a barely coherent, "Cool-bye-see-ya-later-Kurt!").

Kurt muttered to himself about meddlesome private school boys, but couldn't put quite as much vexation into the tone as he wanted, or keep the affectionate smile off his face.

He reached the hidden alcove, down the hall and around the corner from the library, five minutes later. He expected Blaine to come bounding out, pulling him into his arms and kissing him into his next life – that was usually how these encounters went.

Instead, Blaine was leaning against the wall, frowning down at his phone, and Kurt couldn't help staring. Blaine's eyes were suspiciously wet, and he was clutching the phone hard enough that it was likely to snap into pieces at any moment.

Kurt made a soft, breathy sound before whispering, "Blaine?"

His boyfriend looked up, and within a second, a smile was on his face and he was reaching for Kurt, reeling him in for a hug. "Hey, Kurt. The Warblers strike again, huh?"

It was a poor attempt at deflection, one that Kurt wasn't going to indulge. He'd never seen Blaine look as miserable as he had just moments ago, before the cheerful mask came up. He untangled their limbs, leaning back just far enough to look the other boy in the eye. "What's wrong? And before you tell me 'nothing', take a second to consider if you would accept such an answer from me if you were in my shoes right now."

Blaine had opened his mouth, no doubt to deny that there was anything but sunshine and rainbows going on, but at Kurt's warning, he sagged noticeably, his smile fading into something small and wan. "I don't suppose we can make-out first?"

Kurt pressed a quick kiss to that always-tempting mouth, but pulled away even further, not allowing Blaine to reciprocate. "No. No lips-meeting-lips 'til we clear some things up. Such as why you look like someone just killed a puppy in front of you."

Blaine's weak smile faltered even more, though no words were forthcoming. Kurt waited, loosely embracing Blaine, fingers tracing patterns on the back of his boyfriend's blazer. When Blaine finally, hesitatingly spoke, Kurt listened as intently as he could.

"It's nothing you can really do anything about, Kurt, and I don't want to upset you when it's pretty pointless," Blaine began.

"You're talking to the guy who burst into tears less than a day after meeting you – a little baggage isn't going to scare me away, Blaine. You're my boyfriend _and_ one of my best friends." Kurt squeezed him close again, whispering in his ear, "I will _always_ want know if something's bothering you, okay?"

When he pulled back again, Blaine was looking at him warmly, with a faint but real smile, the hurt in his eyes receding. Kurt basked in the affection, smiling back and damning his own rule as he leaned in close – just as Blaine's phone vibrated again. Kurt jumped, since the hand clutching it had been resting on his hip. Blaine glanced down at the screen, his jaw clenching and a muscle in his cheek twitching. He exhaled harshly and turned his face to the side, composing himself. Kurt felt a twinge at that, because the gesture was so familiar, but in a déjà vu kind of way, as if he'd seen it not too long ago. "Oh . . . It's about your family, right?"

Blaine jerked, eyebrows shooting up, then furrowing. "How did you –"

"Two Saturdays ago, the day after my dad caught us on the couch. Remember? We went out for coffee, and I asked you about this small thing you mentioned about being grateful for my family –"

Blaine tilted his head back, sighing loudly. "Right." After a second, he laughed self-consciously, his voice teasing, one eyebrow raised. "As if I could forget anything from the weekend that my boyfriend's father threatened me with torture."

Kurt lifted one hand to smack him on the shoulder. "He did _not_ threaten you with torture." Blaine's second eyebrow joined his first in a disbelieving expression. _Well, there was that line about tools and pain._ Kurt tilted his head in a conceding gesture, smirking a little. "All right, maybe he _implied_. And stop trying to change the subject. I asked about your family, and you did that looking-to-the-side thing you do when you're embarrassed, or when you need to take a second to pretend everything's okay – when it's clearly _not_."

"I also do it when you say something so ridiculously funny that it will likely end in my death if I laugh at you for it," Blaine pointed out with a cheesy grin.

"When have I ever been ridiculous?" Kurt demanded.

"Um, your entire rant on plaid v. paisley?"

Kurt gasped in outrage. "That is a _serious_ –"

Blaine's head went to the side again, and Kurt had to jab him in the ribs with one of the hands resting on his back. Blaine laughed as he flinched away, but settled in close soon after. Kurt glared at him. "I can't believe you've been inwardly mocking me during my important analysis of fashion faux pas."

Blaine was still grinning, "It isn't mockery. You're just so damn . . ." His head tilted but he stopped himself before he could complete the gesture. "_Adorable_."

Kurt huffed, and Blaine stifled a laugh (but Kurt could feel him shaking due to their proximity, so he jabbed him again). A long silence reigned. Eventually Blaine leaned in, putting his head on Kurt's shoulder, wrapping him up in his arms. Kurt accepted the embrace wordlessly.

"It's my dad."

Somehow, this wasn't a surprise, though he didn't have the full story – only educated guesses based on small things Blaine had said or done.

_"Your family is awesome, you know that?"_

_"Yeah. I guess they are."_

_"You hold onto that, Kurt – it's a precious thing."_

Kurt's chest heaved. "You told me your parents know."

Blaine's own chest pressed against his as he took in a deep breath. "They do. And my mother has been . . . quietly accepting, I guess. But my dad, he's been hoping that this is some phase I'll grow out of."

Kurt flinched hard. "But, Blaine, you're . . ."

"What?" Blaine turned his head on Kurt's shoulder, his nose pressing against Kurt's neck, breath coming out unevenly.

Kurt realized he had no clue what to say.

There was a time, last year in fact, when Kurt had had a deeply set terror that his father would reject him, would be _heartbroken_ by his sexuality . . . but at the moment, he couldn't even _imagine_ what it would be like to have his dad be anything but the incredible father that he was being for him.

Things could still be awkward, and there were times when Kurt wondered how much of his dad's acceptance was really just a front. But then he considered the idea of his father putting forth the effort of pretending to be okay, even though there were instances when he was completely baffled or possibly battling old prejudices. That his father could love him so much as to make Kurt feel loved and accepted, no matter how hard it may be for him . . . Kurt could not think of anything that could accurately describe how incredible Burt Hummel was.

"I'm sorry, Blaine," Kurt said finally, hating himself for not being able to wrack his (considerable) brains to whip out words that could banish all the pain in Blaine's voice. "Can you . . . can you tell me what happened today to bring this up?"

Blaine breathed in, squeezing Kurt to him, and then letting go – slowly, very slowly – but eventually Blaine ended up leaning against the wall, and Kurt moved to lean one shoulder next to him on that same wall, eyes on his face.

Blaine was staring down at his phone. He fiddled with it for a second, and then handed it over to Kurt, grimacing. He crossed his arms, almost hugging himself, as Kurt read the first of two e-mails that Blaine's father had sent him.

_Remember how you said you missed having steak for dinner? (Your mom's vegetarian kick is killing me too) Gerard is having a party for Mauve's engagement, and he invited us all. Main course is our favourite kind of dead animal. Next Saturday at six. Family only, (unless there's someone special you'd like to bring). I'll be home late today and tomorrow._

Kurt had to restrain a smile. It sounded _normal_. Mr. Anderson didn't seem to carry any resentment towards Blaine for his sexuality, for all that Blaine described him as being convinced that his son was simply experimenting or rebelling. He forced himself to read between the lines, for his boyfriend's sake.

'_Unless there's someone special_ . . .' Kurt studied those words and guessed. "Your dad is asking you to bring a girl?"

Blaine laughed abruptly, coughing at the end of it; it seemed like he tried to stop himself, because it was an ugly, bitter sound, but it ripped its way out of him nonetheless. "No, because that would be too much like _talking_ about it. He never _talks_ about this. He just does things like take me to football games, and rebuild classic cars in our driveway. He's even offered to take me hunting, and I know for a fact the man has never held a gun in his life. Plus, my mom would make him sleep on the couch for the rest of their lives if she found out he'd let _me_ fire a weapon."

Kurt knew he was staring again, and that this time Blaine could plainly see it, but . . . "Oh." And there it was again. _Mental block!_ Why couldn't he get his act together here? "I'm sorry for being obtuse, but could it be that when your dad is asking if you'd like to bring someone special, he could _actually_ mean your boyfriend?" He thought back to his first conversation with his father about being gay. "If you've _never_ talked about it with your dad, Blaine, how can you –"

Blaine was shaking his head halfway through Kurt's inquiry, gritting his teeth and then visibly doing his best to hide his frustration. "Kurt, trust me, he is _not_ okay with this. It's all very passive aggressive, and nothing ever gets said, but it's clearly _understood_. He's fine with me bringing someone 'special' if that someone is a girl . . . the 'unless' clearly implies that. If I were to bring a boy . . ." He glanced apologetically at Kurt. "He would say something like, 'Oh, I'm sorry, Blaine, I though I told you it was family only?' Because, you see, boys can only ever be _friends_, not _significant others_."

Kurt had internalized a lot of things over the years, but he'd never been shy about demonstrating or telling people who he was. With the exception of his father, who he would be butch for, lie for, die for, Kurt usually had no qualms about being blatantly honest. Even when he had been 'in the closet' he still wore the clothes he wanted, bought some gorgeous tiaras, and ranted to his father about various Broadway shows, knowing full well what all that might imply about himself. Having the kind of relationship Blaine was talking about . . . He shook himself out of his own thoughts, focusing back on his boyfriend. "I still say you can't know for sure unless you have a conversation with him. Seriously, you already came out, isn't that supposed to be the hardest part?"

Blaine was looking pained again. "Read the next e-mail, Kurt."

Kurt flicked his gaze back to the tiny screen reluctantly, sliding to the next message.

_Mauve's sister, Claire, is going to be there too. You guys used to "pull each other's pig tails" a lot, so to speak, but I promise you she's grown into a mature and lovely young lady, so be on your best behaviour and she'll be on hers too. You may be the only two teenagers at this shindig, so make the most of it._

That was a fair bit more obvious. Kurt handed the phone back to Blaine, who shoved it deep into his pants' pocket, casting Kurt a quick side glance before resuming his in-depth examination of his shoes. "Do you understand now?"

"Has it . . . always been like that?" Kurt asked haltingly.

Blaine shrugged. "Maybe. My dad and I never really disagreed about anything major until . . . until I figured out I was gay. And his denial sort of made it hard for me to accept myself. Hence the temporary exploration of bisexuality."

Kurt nodded, trying to ignore the pang he felt at the memory of that awful fight.

"What I'm trying to say is that . . . things are what they are, and he doesn't hate me or anything. And I don't hate him. We just don't talk about it. I go on being gay, he goes on trying to . . . deny it, or subtly hint that it can be fixed or forgotten. But sometimes . . ." Kurt felt his heart clench, skipping a beat as Blaine's eyes gleamed. "Sometimes it feels like I've disappointed him in a huge way. And I hate myself for it, even though I know I can't change it. And other times, like today, I'm so _pissed_ at him, for making me feel like he loves me less now, for making my own home a place I don't feel comfortable in anymore."

Kurt flailed around in his mind again, searching for something to say, uttering the words as he thought of them. "Blaine, none of this is on you. It's your dad and his own prejudices. He has to be the one to do something, to fix himself. You're a great guy, and a great student, and kind and compassionate, and a million other things . . . your being gay shouldn't matter in the face of all that."

Blaine rubbed under his eyes, even though there were no tears to wipe away. "You sound like you're quoting _your_ dad."

Kurt realized that was true as Blaine pointed it out, and half-shrugged. "Paraphrasing. Blaine, I really think you need to sit down and talk with your father."

"I don't want to make things worse," Blaine insisted. "I don't want to push him. What if things do get ugly? What if . . . I don't know, I don't really think about it all that much. Because I don't want to upset the balance."

Kurt thought about that, then cocked his head as an idea came to him. "You don't really hide yourself, though, right? I mean, you don't . . . pretend like you're not gay, to make your dad feel better?"

"No, like I said, there's this weird mutual understanding." Blaine was watching Kurt carefully. "Why?"

Kurt smiled innocently. "Would you say I qualify as 'someone special'?"

Blaine blinked rapidly at this. "Kurt –"

"Your father knows you're gay, so really, what would be the harm?" Kurt knew he was asking a lot of Blaine, but a part of him was hoping that Blaine would take the leap.

Maybe in finally seeing him with a boyfriend, his father would at least _discuss_ it with him. How could either know what the other was thinking until that happened? Kurt sure as hell hadn't known what was going on in his father's head and not just when he'd come out: when he'd been jealous of Finn and his father found him on that stage, when his dad and Carole sacrificed their honeymoon for Dalton tuition – people could be surprising, even the ones a person thought they knew best.

Blaine was shaking his head though. "I can't. I would really, _really_ love to but . . . I guess I don't want to rock the boat. Things aren't great, Kurt, but we can still talk about football, and school, and other things, still laugh together. I don't want to mess it up."

_Meanwhile, the elephant joins you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but if we don't talk about it, it's not there. _Kurt sighed. "You didn't want to mess _this_ up either." He leaned in, kissing Blaine softly. "And you didn't."

Blaine's eyes were on his lips, then flicking up to Kurt's eyes, then back down. "It remains to be seen whether or not I'm going to screw this up."

Kurt's looked skyward in frustration. "Okay, I want my overly cheerful boyfriend back, please." He kissed him with a little more persistence, and soon enough they were wrapped up in each other, Kurt caging Blaine against the wall. And when their tongues tangled, and Kurt issued his inner mental countdown, he was surprised to find Blaine curling in closer instead of pulling away. Heat sliced into him at that, and he couldn't stop the slight moan that quietly vibrated from his mouth to Blaine's.

Blaine slammed his head back, and Kurt immediately pulled away. "God, are you –"

His concern was waved off with a sheepish smile, eyes dark and face flushed. Then a hand was resting on the back of his neck. "Um, I'm going to risk being a total cheeseball here and let you know that you are the _best_ thing to ever happen to me. I can't believe how stupidly oblivious I was to . . . you."

Kurt flushed pleasantly. "Cheesy it may be, but it definitely appeals to the romantic side of me. And your obliviousness . . . it can be endearing, now that it no longer frustrates me to the point of wanting to hit you with a clue-by-four."

Blaine laughed, appearing to nearly throw his head back again to do so, but he caught himself at the last second, with Kurt cradling the back of his head as well to prevent it from reacquainting itself with the wall. They stood poised like that until Blaine dropped his chin, inhaling and exhaling in one long, smooth motion. "Kurt . . . I'll think about it, okay? But I can't promise anything."

Kurt could accept that. He leaned his forehead against Blaine's. "I won't think less of you if you decide that you're not ready to confront your dad. So, no pressure."

Blaine kissed him, thoroughly but briefly. When they parted, Kurt was grinning like a love-struck idiot (_again_), and Blaine was glancing down at their various entangled limbs, then at his phone. "I don't think we have time. There's only ten minutes before last period starts."

Kurt shrugged, his nose grazing Blaine's _almost_ accidentally. "Seven minutes – three minutes grace to get to last period."

Blaine brushed their lips together, words falling into Kurt's mouth, "Right, sounds good to me."

Nine minutes later, they were hurriedly straightening out their uniforms, exchanging quick pecks and rushing off to their respective classes.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for all your lovely, encouraging words, one and all :) I'm going to try for daily updates, so expect the next chapter up sometime tomorrow - I want to get this story out before Glee comes back next week. Hugs to all of you!


	3. Chapter 3

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 3**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Rachel, put the plaid mini down and step away from the Junior Miss section. _Now_," Kurt ordered.

Rachel pouted, putting back the purple, pink and blue monstrosity she had been admiring. Mercedes was giggling at Kurt's back, and she put an arm through Rachel's as she guided the girl over to where the big girl clothes were.

"So, Blaine tell you what he's decided to do yet?" Mercedes asked as she held up a gorgeous sapphire sweater in her own size. Kurt nodded his approval, and then shook his head.

"No – I haven't asked," he admitted. "His dad has been arriving at obscene hours of the night all week, they haven't had much opportunity to talk."

"I get that." Mercedes hung her soon-to-be-new sweater over her arm as she dug through the racks for something petite and non-pastel for Rachel. "Damn, this must suck for him . . . but he should try as soon as he can, like tonight. It's only gonna get harder the longer he waits."

Kurt tilted his head as he examined a lovely dark purple shirt with a scoop neck. "Mercedes, I don't want to push him. The dinner isn't until next weekend, there's time."

He'd spoken with Blaine at school, before he needed to rush home for an early (five o'clock) dinner. Blaine had shrugged, ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck, haltingly explaining that he still hadn't figured out how to tell his father, and maybe he would just drop hints instead of outright asking. Kurt had told him to do whatever he felt comfortable doing, and Blaine smiled brightly at that. It made him want to ask the boy to tag along with him . . . but he'd promised his father he'd be home for an unusually early Friday night dinner (Carole had some weird work scheduling problem that week), and then he'd promised that afterwards, Mercedes and Rachel would have him all to themselves for some late night shopping since the malls didn't close until ten on Fridays. He hadn't really seen them since Regionals week. And Rachel was in dire need of clothes therapy – _always_.

"I need something sophisticated for New York too," Rachel suddenly gushed. "What if we run into a Broadway producer or director? Do you think they'd come to show choir competitions? Oooh, what if they scout out future talents and –"

Mercedes poked Rachel hard, clearing her throat in a very obvious manner. Kurt concentrated on keeping his jealousy at bay – which was all for naught because he couldn't get the image of Rachel shaking hands with many a Broadway legend out his head. He turned away from them to mindlessly flip through a few skirts. When he risked glancing back, Rachel was covering her mouth with one hand, brown eyes wide. "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, Kurt."

Kurt tried to smile, but he knew it was a pained grimace that was twisting his mouth instead, so he gave up. "Rachel, it's perfectly fine for you to be excited about going to New York – I would be rubbing it in your face if it were the other way around."

"No, you wouldn't." Mercedes dumped her clothing selections on top of a rack, then put her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him. "You'd be excited, and yeah, probably a bit annoying, but trying to hide it so _we_ wouldn't feel bad –"

"And then I'd feel bad regardless, because it would feel wrong to be going to New York without you guys there with me," Kurt finished, smiling sadly down at the pencil skirt he was holding. He hugged her back after a moment, and succeeded in banishing the jealously away to a dark corner.

There was a silence. It broke as Rachel burst out with, "I want a chocolate ice cream sundae!"

Mercedes and Kurt both looked over at her, eyebrows raised in question. Rachel shrugged, taking the pencil skirt off his hands. "They're my go-to sadness cure. There is such a thing as vegan ice-cream, by the way."

Kurt did some quick mental calculations and then decided to screw it – a few hundred extra calories wasn't going to put him over into obese territory, and quite frankly, ice cream (of the non-vegan variety for him) sounded wonderful right about now. He always worked up a bit of a sweat when shopping.

"First, I want to get you out of your clothes." Kurt wrinkled his nose at her. "If you want to share an ice cream with me, you can not be looking like the pre-teen section of a Wal-Mart catalogue."

Rachel marched in close, glaring up at him teasingly, "For a second there I thought you were about to proposition me."

Kurt leaned down, watching her eyes widening . . . and pressed a lightning-quick kiss to the tip of her nose. "Not in that pastel pink disaster of a sweater."

Rachel grabbed the massive pile of clothes, practically disappearing behind it as she pursed her lips. "Fine. Mercedes, lead the way." But she flounced off before Mercedes could even blink. Kurt exchanged amused glances with his best friend before following their favourite mini-diva.

Rachel looked fabulous in almost everything Kurt had picked out, and what she didn't look great in was more to do with incorrect size or cut than anything else. He and Mercedes had a few selections of their own, and they all spent an inordinate amount of time gushing over each other's clothes.

Then came the tradition Kurt and Mercedes had started from their very first shopping trip together, one that wasn't very original, but certainly entertaining: they took a few ridiculous pieces and posed in front of the mirror in various animal print, neon, and fur lined outfits that were so awful they belonged in an 80s film about fashion rejects. All three of them cracked up as every outfit became more outrageous than the one previous, and it got to the point where they were crying and clutching their ribs in pain (particularly when Rachel found a truly atrocious pair of orange tiger stripped pants, with a bright blue zipper that went front to back, right along the crotch line, had neon green trim along the waist line _and_ a matching top. Kurt found a pair of bright blue heels to go with it, and Rachel rocked the outfit with hair tossing and come-hither eyes while Mercedes and Kurt were a mess of tears and laughter on the hard carpeted floor).

Once that bit of fun was over with, they paid for all their choices, found the nearest washroom, and Mercedes and Kurt chatted outside while they waited for Rachel to change into one of her new outfits.

"Excuse me?"

Kurt turned and saw a couple of young girls (he'd hazard a guess and say they were around twelve or thirteen), gazing up at him, looking rather . . . He didn't quite know how to describe their expressions. One had dark, almost caramel-toned skin with cute freckles, and was smiling but couldn't seem to meet his eyes. The other, a somewhat more confident looking brunette, was wringing her hands as though she were nervous. He'd never seen them before in his life.

"Um, my friend and I were just wondering, um, . . . you go to McKinley, right?"

Kurt shook his head. "Not anymore – why, do I know you?"

The two girls glanced at each other, and the freckled one giggled before she covered her mouth with one hand.

"No, um." The brunette seemed to take it upon herself to be the spokesperson. "We're big fans of the Cheerios – like, all the girls in our middle school are _dying_ to be on Coach Sylvester's team. Us too!"

"And some of the guys," the other girl added, revealing bright coloured braces. She ducked her head bashfully as Kurt smiled at her.

"And we just wanted to . . . say we're really big fans of that, like, _insane_ solo you did last year –"

"Yeah, it was _insane_ – like too awesome for words," Braces-girl cut in.

"Everyone in our grade has seen the YouTube video, like, a _million_ times."

Kurt blinked slowly, turning to look over at Mercedes, who was inexplicably laughing behind her hand, her eyes crinkling with glee.

Kurt looked back down at the two pre-teens, and decided the safest course of action was to thank them. "That's great, it's nice to know you all enjoyed it so much."

"So, _so_ much," the brunette enunciated ardently, her gaze freakily intent. Kurt stared, lips parting in shock. No way. Was a little twelve-year-old girl . . . _leering_ at him? No. He was totally imagining things.

Rachel bounded out of the bathroom then, resplendent in a dark purple shirt, grey pencil skirt and fantastic knee high black boots. She threw herself at Kurt, her arms winding around his neck, kissing his cheek. "Thank you so much! You may now proposition me!"

Kurt hugged her, laughing out his words, "Sorry, you missed my butch phase, and I doubt I'm going to have another. But you do look spectacular."

"Oh."

Kurt had temporarily forgotten the two girls, and when he turned back, they were both gawking up at him with pained eyes, while darting looks at Rachel.

"I'm sorry, I didn't get your names," Kurt apologized, one arm around Rachel's waist.

"Never mind." The brunette grabbed the hand of her friend, who was sighing out something under her breath. The spokes-girl smiled brightly, _too_ brightly. "Bye Kurt!"

Kurt was absolutely mystified. He turned to his friends: Rachel was watching them go, then caught Mercedes' eyes – and the two of them burst out laughing. Kurt waited until they wound down before asking, "Which one of you is going to explain that to me?"

Mercedes shook her head. "Oh, come on. Those poor girls were totally crushin' on you, Kurt. A couple of fan girls."

Kurt shook his head automatically. "No way. You're not serious."

Rachel stared up at him from her position at his side. "She's right. They were _total_ fan girls. It's sweet."

Kurt looked down at himself – and yes, he was, as usual, flawless in his clothing selection, all of a flattering nature: his favourite dark jeans, black boots, a pinstriped indigo shirt with a skinny black tie. However, no matter how stylish he was, he definitely wasn't someone that anyone would fan-girl (or boy) over, appearance-wise. "They were simply star-struck by a Cheerio. Albeit a former one. They are rather legendary in this town, in case you haven't noticed. I know you haven't forgotten the free haircuts, Mercedes."

" 'Star-struck' my ass." Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Or yours, actually. They were totally checkin' you out, even though they were bitching about Rachel being your 'hot girlfriend.' "

Rachel immediately preened at that. " 'Hot girlfriend'?" She grinned happily at Kurt. "I am never doubting your clothing choices again."

Kurt accepted that because, well, _naturally_, but he was simultaneously trying to wrap his mind around what Mercedes was saying. "But . . . I'm not . . ." – _attractive, hot, sexy –_ "I'm _gay_."

"And cute." Mercedes waved off his objection, bending over to pick up her bags. "C'mon, let's get you two your ice cream. I want a smoothie."

Rachel bent to clutch her own purchases and Kurt's, without letting go of his arm, tugging him after Mercedes.

Kurt, in the meantime, was working through Mercedes' offhand words – they had, unbeknownst to her, hit on the other problem he'd neatly put aside in order to concentrate on Blaine's issues.

Mercedes had once had a crush on him . . . Brittany had wanted . . . wait, Brittany had made out with the janitor, so, maybe that one didn't count. But it meant that there were people that looked at him, and _liked_ what they saw. Then again, two twelve year old girls didn't really amount to much in his view – pre-teens were notorious for being blinded by one particular (if not insignificant) characteristic in a person, and thus being blissfully unaware of all other faults – read: Justin Bieber.

"Kurt, if you're trying to melt your ice cream with your eyes, you're doing a pretty good job."

Kurt jerked in his seat, glancing up at his two girl friends. "Sorry. I'm . . . thinking."

He was spared from interrogation (he could tell one was coming from the way Mercedes' eyes narrowed), by his phone ringing – at the moment, the ringtone for a certain someone was _Candles_, and no, he was not going to apologize for how endlessly sappy that was, or for the fact that it was actually pretty inappropriate considering that he had recently figured out it was a break-up song.

He answered with a smile. "Hey, what's going on?"

A long sigh whooshed into his ear from the other end. "Not much, truthfully. Just wanted to hear your voice." Kurt had to grin at that, and blush – he was certain that was now his default facial expression and colour, forever and ever: smiling like a loon and red in the face.

Kurt saw Mercedes making 'gimmie' hands beside him, and he leaned back as she leaned forward. "Well, here I am. I'm still with Rachel and Mercedes."

"Oh, well, tell them I say hi."

Before Kurt could say as much, Mercedes had snatched the phone and put it on speaker. "Hey Blaine!"

"Hi Blaine!" Rachel chorused, licking her spoon clean of her vegan-chocolate ice cream.

"Hello ladies," Blaine replied, laughing. "Are you holding my boyfriend hostage?"

Mercedes made a 'pfft' noise. "Naw, me and Kurt had to kidnap _Rachel_ for some emergency shopping. She's the hostage."

"She left the house in a fuzzy pink sweater with pom-poms hanging off it, Blaine. Something _had_ to be done," Kurt stated, sipping what was left of his sundae.

Rachel stuck out her tongue at him, but then smiled down at the phone. "Kurt has rendered me hot! I owe him for this – maybe some vocal coaching lessons?"

Kurt gave her a perfectly arched eyebrow and fairly haughty stare. Rachel stared right back belligerently before giggling hopelessly.

"He's giving her his best 'bitch, please' expression right now, isn't he?" Blaine asked, sounding highly amused.

Mercedes grinned. "You got it. You should be here to see it – next time you're coming down with us."

"Yeah, you would totally have gotten a kick out of Kurt's little fans, all googly-eyed and jealous of his 'hot' girlfriend – which was me, in case there was any doubt!" Rachel rattled off into the phone resting on the table while Kurt buried his face in his hands.

" 'Fans'? Kurt, you have fans?" Blaine's voice had something like a confused note to it.

"Remnants of my days as a Cheerio," Kurt explained.

"They were ogling him and imagining their future babies," Mercedes teased him mercilessly. "It was awesome."

Kurt hissed at Mercedes to stop while Blaine continued to be dumbfounded. "Kurt? As in, _my_ Kurt?"

For whatever reason, his disbelief put Kurt on edge, even with the little thrill at Blaine claiming his possession of him, and he halfway snapped into the phone, "Yes, as in, apparently someone finding me attractive. You don't have to sound so incredulous."

As soon as he said it, he grabbed up the phone, switching speaker off. "Oh God, Blaine, I didn't mean that, I'm so sorry. Consider it the result of a sugar rush – I haven't had an ice cream sundae in weeks, and I've recently indulged. That'll teach me to give into cravings." Rachel and Mercedes were blinking away at him as if he'd sprouted wings.

Blaine was quick to forgive. "Don't worry about it. So, these fans –"

"They were a couple of middle-schoolers with a hero-complex. It seems that their school is one to worship at the altar of cheerleading. And my Celine Dion medley was the talk of the pre-teen town for a while."

"Yeah, I can see that – I've definitely watched that video a fair few times."

"Oh?" Kurt could feel his smile creeping back. "And how many times would that be?"

"Uh, enough to be . . . shameful, actually."

Kurt could hear the embarrassment, so he decided to let Blaine off the hook. It was amazing enough to consider Blaine listening and watching that over and over again, though he didn't speak a word of French, and he had only heard of the Cheerios in name before Kurt explained them to him. He felt decidedly touched and proud that his boyfriend loved his singing and performing that much. Furthermore, now he didn't feel like a total loser for trying to find previous Warbler performances online to enjoy more of Blaine's singing (and his hilarious, if not adorable, facial expressions).

"I actually called for a reason, though, besides delighting in your voice." Blaine breathed in. "I, um, I tried dropping the first few hints today."

Kurt froze in the middle of dabbing his face with a napkin. "I . . . okay." His voice came out muffled, and he remembered to put the napkin down. "Is that . . . how did your dad . . . wait, what, exactly, did you say?"

He met eyes with Mercedes and Rachel, who were now bending in close, gesturing at him to continue talking with Blaine.

"I asked him if it was okay to bring a friend, who happens to be a boy, over to the dinner-party. He gave me this look like . . . I was breaking a promise or something. He didn't come right out and say that he meant for me to bring a girlfriend, but he did tell me that this wasn't something for Wes or David, that any boy – cue heavy pause – _friends_ wouldn't necessarily count as significant others."

"Unless they are significant," Kurt pointed out softly.

Blaine sighed. "I know, Kurt, I know. I backed off, pretended like I didn't care . . . I'm going to try again, tomorrow or Sunday. Maybe I'll pull the pity card – tell him I'll be bored out of my skull unless I can bring a friend."

"You should also tell your dad that it's cruel to lead a girl on if you know you can't be anything _significant_ to her, so this – Clara? Claire? – is only destined for heartbreak."

"I'll consider that my last argument before I say 'screw it' and just bring you along." Kurt couldn't tell if he was being serious or not; he wished that he could see his face. Blaine's tone brightened as he asked, "Can I call you later tonight? Maybe after your moisturizing routine?"

Kurt smiled down at the tabletop, running his fingers along the edge. "That'll be fine – eleven-ish?"

"You got it – talk to you then."

"Bye, Blaine." It took an extra few seconds, but eventually Kurt heard the sound of the call disconnecting and he looked over at his girls, who were immediately demanding answers. "He tried to ask . . . indirectly, tonight. It was a no-go. He's going to try again at some point this weekend."

Mercedes reached out to wrap a cold hand (from gripping her strawberry-banana smoothie) around his own. "Hey, it'll be all right. That boy is crazy for you, and you're going to rub that craziness right in his uptight dad's face. Wait and see."

Rachel nodded. "I'm with Mercedes on this one, Kurt – don't worry too much. It seems to me that Blaine's dad does love him, he just hasn't quite forced himself to come to terms with him being gay – like your dad did for you."

Kurt exhaled. "Okay. I got it. Now, let's get home – the mall's going to close in fifteen minutes."

Rachel stared at her watch in shock. "Wow, we've been shopping for almost four _hours_?"

Mercedes snorted. "Please, you should see this boy when the sales are going strong, or on Black Friday – bring water bottles, granola bars, and kiss your parents good-bye."

"Hey, the longest I've ever kept you out for was seven hours,_ tops_."

"Try _ten_. Not including travelling time or bathroom breaks."

Kurt waved a dismissive hand as they walked through the now empty mall towards the parking lot. "You had just as much fun as I did."

"I think I was begging for mercy around the six hour mark. I may have passed out around eight, and then you carried me around for the last two."

"Lies, it's all lies, Rachel – she almost took out this little old lady for these amazing, discounted Jimmy Choo combat boots."

"Uh, that was you. I was gunning for the hot purple Converse –"

"Ah-hah! So you admit it was completely voluntary!"

Mercedes swung and hit him with one her bags while Rachel laughed as Kurt failed to duck in time. Mercedes began telling Rachel about the epic shoe battle and when they reached the outside, Kurt spotted two familiar girls standing next to a stop sign. They were likely waiting for a ride, and Kurt thought of their wide, admiring eyes and the way they talked about Cheerios as if it was the be-all, end-all of their future.

"Could you guys give me a minute?" he asked as he made his way over, not really waiting for a response – it was sure to be further mocking.

"Hey!" he called and he had to bite his lip as they whipped around in unison, shocked and instantly embarrassed. "You two never did tell me your names."

"Ooh, um, I'm Tanya," the brunette said nervously.

Tanya nudged her friend once, twice, before the girl blurted out, "Grace!"

"Well, it's nice to meet you both," Kurt said, reaching out and shaking their hands. He could sort of see it now, the way they kept staring at him with no small measure of awe, and the way their eyes kept drifting up and down quickly, then darting away. There was a slight tremble to Grace's grip.

"Listen, I just wanted to tell you that I really appreciate your . . . um, compliments. It was kind of you, of both of you, to say so. But I really don't think you should think too highly of the Cheerios."

They gaped at him. "Why?" Tanya asked, utterly baffled.

"Because, while they are incredible athletes, the way Coach Sylvester works them is absolutely inhuman, and only a handful of them are actually worth knowing. Less, now that I'm no longer a member." He flashed a teasing grin, but when Grace all but swooned, he immediately toned it down. It was more than a bit shocking, the amount of power he had over them, but he had to get this out, for reasons he didn't quite understand, and these 'crushes' could only help him relay his message.

"But, they're national champions, and just about the only reason why anyone knows that Lima, Ohio _exists_ in America," Tanya explained, still sounding lost. "And you, you were, you _are_ like, out-of-this-world talented."

"You're right, I am." Was it arrogance if it was the truth? "And that remains whether or not I'm a Cheerio. Listen, do you two really want to be cheerleaders? Skimpy skirts, extreme dieting, rehearsals until seven, almost everyday of the week, and early morning wake-up calls by Coach Sylvester and her megaphone?"

There was a second of hesitation, then Grace murmured, "Actually, I only got interested 'cause of the singing. _Your_ singing."

That was so beyond flattering, Kurt couldn't help the broad smile that followed. "Then, you should totally check out Glee club – if your school has one. Or, you know, when you get to high school – _that's_ where I really had the most fun, and performing was a lot more . . . gratifying, and less back-breaking and spirit-crushing. I promise."

"But isn't Glee, for . . . um, losers?" Tanya looked horrified at having indirectly called Kurt a loser, but he took it in stride.

"It's for_ everyone_," Kurt said firmly. "And if you end up going to McKinley? Mr. Schuester is very kind. You just have to nudge him in the right direction – keep him away from Journey, make sure everyone gets the chance to shine, and you'll have far more fun in Glee than you ever will in Cheerios."

They still looked doubtful, but there wasn't anything else Kurt could think of to say. He shrugged as he finished off his speech. "I just wanted you guys to know that. You'll make real friends at Glee club – Cheerios is more for the Gossip Girl set."

They nodded, and Kurt turned to go back to Rachel and Mercedes. "Well, bye –"

"You're really, really hot, and is that girl _really_ your girlfriend?" Grace slapped her hand over her mouth as soon as the words fell out.

Tanya stared at her friend incredulously, her cheeks flushing bright pink and her own hands flying to her face. "_Grace!_"

"Sorry, sorry! That's what happens when I'm nervous!" Grace's lower lip trembled as if she was about to cry and so Kurt immediately reassured her.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, I . . . 'hot'? Really?" He knew that he was the one looking embarrassed at that moment. "I just, um . . . really?"

Grace moaned, and Kurt realized that it was not the time to seek assurances for his own insecurities. "Um, it's fine, Grace, please . . . and no, Rachel is most definitely _not_ my girlfriend. I would rather wear cheap polyester and Birkenstocks for the rest of my life. She's a good friend though, high annoyance factor aside."

He debated for a minute, and then decided maybe truth was the way to go, since the moony-eyed gazes had returned full force. "But I do have a _boyfriend_." _Wow_, that was like an instant dose of happy pills, to be able to tell someone that. Kurt floated giddily in his own mind as he thought of the boy waiting to call him later that night.

That statement brought the two girls up short. Kurt patiently waited for any insults or stuttered apologies followed by cutting and running – but then Tanya just blinked and resumed staring at him in awe. "Really? Um, who is he?"

"He's a member of the same Glee club I'm in at my new school. I just didn't want you guys thinking . . ." He felt patently ridiculous now. He'd been teasing Blaine about leading that Claire girl on, but in Kurt's case, how he could he even presume to think that he would provoke those kinds of feelings in these girls? But then again, he could see with his own eyes the way that they stared at him, and it was hard to miss the blatant adoration even though it confused him.

"Oh, thanks, that's really nice of you," Grace said shyly. "So, you're like, gay, right? Not bi?"

Kurt hated to crush that note of hope, but he had to shake his head. "Not bi."

"Is your boyfriend cute?" Tanya questioned breathlessly.

Kurt got the distinct impression that his attempts to warn them off were somehow backfiring, but he really, truly did not understand _why_. "He's pretty cute, yes. He's the lead singer, for the most part, when we're not singing duets or –"

"You guys sing _duets_ together?" Grace sighed out, her eyes sparkling with admiration and . . . something else.

A car horn made all three of them jump, and Tanya was waving as a mini-van pulled up. "That's my mom – wow, she's super late. Anyways, thanks so much, Kurt! For everything!"

Grace hung back for a second, taking a half a step closer, then shaking her head, darting back just as quickly. "Um, you're really cool Kurt . . ." Suddenly, she grinned broadly and honestly, braces catching the light of street lamp, her nervousness hardly noticeable. "And super hot! Thanks for being so cool!"

Then they were running and sliding open the van door, slamming it shut. Kurt could hear them jabbering away through the open passenger window as the van sped past him. He stared, mouthing wordlessly. _Really cool? Super hot? Teenybopper goggles, maybe?_

"Wow, Kurt . . . that was something else."

He jumped again, whipping around to see Mercedes and Rachel standing directly behind him. Rachel was wrapping an arm around him once more, smiling up at him. "Recruiting the future generations? Good, we need to make sure Mr. Schuester has plenty of kids to keep him busy after his first and most talented leave him for bigger and better opportunities."

"Again, you're something else, Kurt." Mercedes was at his other side, kissing his cheek with a loud smack. "It's a good thing I'm over you, otherwise Blaine would have some serious competition."

"Hey, I'm the hot girlfriend, remember?" Rachel challenged Mercedes, brown eyes glinting with amusement.

"Polly Pocket, I could totally take you!"

Kurt could only handle so many girls fawning over him in one day – in all seriousness, the part of his brain that dealt with incredulity had been overworked the past few hours. "Okay, time to take you ladies home. It's been lovely, really, but I have a phone appointment with a hot boy, and as much as I love you two . . . priorities."

Mercedes and Rachel were exchanging looks again, and Kurt did not wait to see what that would mean for him – he took off, running towards his SUV, his bags hitting his legs as the girls screamed at him, right on his heels. It turned into a race, and their shrieks echoed in the parking lot, likely disturbing anyone nearby, but Kurt was breathless and laughing, and his friends were falling into the car, laughing right along with him, and demanding to take control of the iPod on the way home. For a little while, at least, all his bodily insecurities, and worries for his boyfriend and his family, they took a back seat as he turned the ignition, heard some Beyoncé pour out through his speakers, and started singing in perfect harmony with two of the few (well, maybe _three,_ if you counted Rachel) divas who could ever keep up with him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **I apologize to anyone that may own the awful outfit I had Rachel try on . . . because it is real. I found it on Google (it looked to be homemade . . . maybe it was a costume? I hope it was a costume). Again, sorry! Everyone has different tastes, I guess :)

Also, sorry, this is rather late, but I got caught up in some family/friend bonding of my own :D Hope you all enjoyed this, and if ya did, it would be nice to know ;) In all seriousness though, thanks for reading, favouriting, and alerting, it is much appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 4**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

The shopping high carried him over right into Monday, and it was odd, but in remembering the fun he'd had on Friday night with his girls, Dalton seemed graver and less . . . He didn't quite know what, but he kept picturing New Directions running rampant in these dark wood panelled halls; it always ended with him grinning as he imagined the utter chaos and the looks of shock and dismay on the faces of the more upper-crust and snobby attendees of the school.

But it wasn't like Kurt hadn't made friends at Dalton. Trent and Nick were his close lunch-companions, as well as sharing a couple of classes with him, and he had a lot of fun discussing (at times heatedly debating) the Warbler's song choices with them. Wes and David he knew a bit better through Blaine, and they weren't as haughty as they seemed when they were sitting on the council during a meeting. All the other Warblers had been welcoming and encouraging, even verging on fan-boyish when they realized he was a countertenor.

The rub was that whenever he had something new and exciting he wanted to share, whenever he had something emotional to get off his chest, he wanted to call Mercedes, or even Rachel. If it was especially potent, he wanted to _sing_. He hadn't realized how much of a help it had been to be able to walk into that choir room back at McKinley and just belt out whatever he happened to be feeling strongest at the time. _Blackbird_ was the first time he'd been allowed to do that at Dalton, and he wasn't sure how it happened – maybe because they felt sorry for him, or maybe because his truly inspired mourning ensemble struck them dumb, but _God_, did it ever bring to the forefront how much he missed that stupid choir room in that thrice-damned school.

Why was it always grey skies and nostalgia after he spent a fun weekend with his best friends?

He shook off the melancholy as he spotted Jeff waving him over to sit with him and a few other Warblers for lunch. Nick was amongst them, and he greeted Kurt happily through a mouth full of spaghetti. Kurt put down his tray, and handed him a napkin wordlessly. Cliff nudged him teasingly. "That's his kind way of saying 'stop being such a caveman'."

Nick almost shoved Cliff off the bench. "I'm a perfect gentleman when the situation calls for it!"

"Let us say it is _always_ called for, to spare us the sight of half-masticated food, all right?" Trent flashed Kurt a long-suffering look, which flicked up to a grin as Kurt commiserated with him.

"You should see my stepbrother when he gets a good head start on dinner and there's a game on at the same time." He ate his lunch quietly after that, savouring his delicious plate of pasta as soon as he finished with his salad.

"So, um, where's Blaine?" Jeff asked nonchalantly, taking a sip from his glass of juice.

Kurt feigned polite disinterest, swallowing his food before answering. "Hm? Oh, Blaine . . . I think he's finishing off a chemistry lab or something – why?"

"Nothing, no reason," Jeff was quick to say.

Right. Kurt gazed along the table towards the other faces, and they all seemed to be highly focused on their respective lunches. He tilted his head back, shaking it a little. "I can not believe that I was so slow to pick up on this. Out with it – is it the closet on the second floor across from the bathroom? The abandoned classroom – a personal favourite of mine? Why not just give me a list, and Blaine and I take over from here, all right?"

Jeff's wide-eyed stare was soon joined by similar expressions from Trent, Nick, and Cliff, all of them faking innocent so badly that Kurt had no choice but to laugh and mock them with his own (far more believable) rendition of _'who, me, what are you talking about?'_ "I'm sorry, was I just _imagining_ the entire group arranging romantic, if not dusty locations for my boyfriend and I to lock lips in private?"

Jeff dropped the act first, his self-satisfied grin a relief to see. "What, are you not enjoying yourself?"

Kurt couldn't prevent the pink colour he knew was rising to his cheeks. He narrowed his eyes at the blond boy, pointing a fork at him. The others leaned back, flinching. "You. How much money did you rake in the day Blaine and I got together? Don't even try to deny it." The pot was universal knowledge at this point, though no one would admit to the amount out loud.

Jeff shrugged, still grinning. "A lot."

Kurt eyed him suspiciously. "And why do I get the feeling that somehow there's more going on?"

If this had been a cartoon, they would all have broken out into simultaneous whistling, and begun staring up at the ceiling, examining their nails, or glancing at their watches. Since this wasn't a cartoon, and they were only that ridiculous when on stage, everyone decided to ignore Kurt and resume eating their lunches. Kurt picked at his own mostly finished meal, scrutinizing them all, except for Trent, who was standing up to return his tray to the kitchen, indicating that Kurt follow.

"It's all Wes," Trent stated bluntly once they were far enough from the table.

Kurt stared at him. "What?"

"Wes and David, I believe." Trent paused to thank the staff as politely as possible before guiding Kurt out of the dinning area (one could never call this room, with its lovely cushioned benches and well-coordinated tables and fixtures, a _cafeteria_ with all its negative connotations).

They walked along the hall as Kurt processed Trent's information. "So, Wes and David have coordinated this entire operation to keep things orderly at meetings? Huh, Blaine and I were right."

"Actually, that's an unexpected bonus. Mostly, Wes and David are fixated on keeping Blaine, well, happy."

Kurt didn't quite know what to say to that. "Wait . . . they're going out of their way because . . . they want me to keep Blaine placated with kisses?"

Trent smiled indulgently. "Wes and David took Blaine under their wing when he first arrived at Dalton – and while they may appear detached, emotionally speaking, they do have a certain degree of affection for him. And his talent. And they like you, too. Now, you and Blaine are both happy, and they want to keep it that way. And in doing so, the Warblers prosper. It's one, big, happy family circle."

Kurt took all this in, and then enunciated slowly, "You know, it is only my experience with an equally, if not more insane Glee club, that is keeping me from questioning the mental health of two-thirds of the Warbler's Council."

Trent's smile turned into a genuine, friendly one, and Kurt returned it. The boy put a hand on his shoulder, "Kurt, you've impressed me, with your strength and individuality. You conformed to Dalton, but in your own way, and in a way that has left its mark on the Warblers. I have to thank you for that."

Kurt gave him a strange look. "Why are you talking as if I'm not long for this world?"

Trent laughed, his round face boyish and sweet. "Because, I don't think you're really much longer for Dalton. I think that you've taken everything you could take away from this place, and that includes Blaine. Honestly, if it weren't for Blaine, would you have lasted this long?"

"It's a lot more complicated than that," Kurt said softly. The rest of the Warblers didn't know about death threats and the other . . . things that Karofsky had done.

However, Trent was right, to an extent – there was no way Kurt could have truly endured the brave new world of Dalton Academy if it hadn't been for Blaine. He would have had to, but it would've been excruciating. He stopped walking, taking in Trent's words and really thinking hard on them.

Kurt was used to Dalton now, had even grown to like it. Aside from Blaine, he had a couple of decent friends amongst the Warblers and his classes were more engaging and stimulating.

But, in the beginning, when he was so desperately homesick for that choir room back at McKinley, Blaine and Karofsky were the two only reasons why Kurt stayed at Dalton – Blaine was keeping him there, and Karofsky was keeping him away from McKinley. If Karofsky were ever gone . . . Kurt blinked rapidly. He had no idea what he would do . . . _New York_, a silky voice whispered. And his heart leapt. To be there with his friends, his _best_ friend, his _girl _friends, his one true home, _New Directions_ . . .

"It's somewhat scary how much you know about me, when I know so very little about you," Kurt breathed out, tired from all this thinking and _over_-thinking.

Trent dropped his hand from Kurt's shoulder. "Kurt, every story you ever tell, every time we do something at practice, you supplement it with a story or reference from your old school, your old Glee club. It's not hard to tell where you feel you truly belong, mitigating factors aside. I think Wes and David see that too. So, for however long we have you, they want you and Blaine to be happy. And for meetings to continue on with punctuality and with decorum. It's not all that strange, when you think about it."

Kurt couldn't help but find it strange, but he understood Wes' happy smirk at giving Kurt his duet with Blaine a little more now.

He jumped as the hand returned, clapping him once this time before Trent turned to head back in the opposite direction. "Just go with it, Kurt. You and Blaine deserve it."

Kurt waved at him as he walked away, and then carefully folded this conversation away for much, _much_ later reflecting – he had enough confusion and adolescent angst on his plate as it was, despite the overarching joy that was his boyfriend . . . who was coming at him from the other end of the hall, also looking tired, but grinning broadly and walking faster as soon as they met each other's eyes.

Blaine caught Kurt in a hug, and then spun him around in a swift, sloppily executed dance move, dipping him like he had not long ago during their 'rehearsals' for Regionals, and kissing him. Kurt tried to keep the insane grin off his face so he could kiss back with just as much fervour.

"I seem to have caught myself a boyfriend." Blaine was so close to Kurt that his words were brushing against his lips.

Kurt fluttered his eyelashes. "Do you regularly prowl the hallways looking for boyfriends?"

"Only ones with killer voices, perfect hair, and messenger bags."

"That seems like a fairly specific combination." Kurt pulled on Blaine's shoulders, and Blaine straightened, bringing Kurt up with him.

"Well, I have a specific sort of boy in mind." He leaned in and kissed Kurt, quickly, before pulling back and chattering excitedly, "Guess what?"

Kurt was checking his hair in a large, gilded mirror nearby before facing his boyfriend again. "What?"

"I tried talking to my dad yesterday? I went the boredom route and cited previous so-called family gatherings where they let me bring either Wes or David, or whoever else . . . and my dad said that he'd think about it!"

Kurt didn't quite get what Blaine was so happy about, but he smiled widely regardless. "That's great. I'm assuming this is progress?" He had to ask, because he didn't speak the passive-aggressive-never-really-outright-talk-abou t-anything-father-son language.

Blaine nodded, his grin never faltering. "Yes, this is _huge_! He knows I'm asking to bring a boy, and since I haven't stated that I'm bringing either Wes or David, then that implies someone _new_, and the fact that I'm even asking . . . trust me, he understands what's happening here, and he's _thinking_ about it! And the best part is that my mom actually intervened and was like, 'well, if you're going to bring anyone, other than Wes or David, it should definitely be Kurt, he seems to be such a bright, interesting person.' I swear, I'm quoting her verbatim!"

Kurt managed to follow this train of thought with some degree of success, flushing when Blaine reached his mother's opinion on the matter. "I've never even met her."

Blaine half-shrugged, eyes drifting downwards. "You've been a subject of discussion a couple of times. My mother really likes you, based on what I've told her. I think she's close to asking me to bring you over. I mean, I haven't told her, yet, that you and I are . . . but –"

"You've implied it, probably more explicitly than you have with your father," Kurt finished, proud of himself from understanding a few of the intricacies of the Anderson household.

Blaine's grin was blinding in response. "Exactly!"

Quite suddenly, Kurt realized he hadn't spent any real time with Blaine since the weekend before this one, and he was desperate for alone time that wasn't tucked away in an empty closet, or spent with a few stray students in a common room.

"Listen, I have a light day today, in terms of homework. Want to come over for a bit?"

Blaine nodded immediately. "I'll double-check with my mom, but yeah, that'd be great. That being said, it's a school night, so I'll probably have to leave around eight."

"I know, and I'm sorry, for the long drive home and –"

"Kurt, I've driven to Lima enough times now that it really, really doesn't bother me to make the trip." Blaine grabbed his hand, squeezing his fingers. "Let's relax today, since we have the opportunity. Movie?"

"Musical," Kurt said decidedly. "_Evita_? Or _Moulin Rouge_?"

"Hm, Antonio Banderas or Ewan McGregor?" Blaine considered, a vaguely teasing leer on his face. Kurt laughed, and then a small twinge interrupted his giddiness: _he's never looked at me like that_.

"Your base motivations are for shame, Blaine Anderson." Kurt sniffed, trying to shove his silly insecurities down and away.

"Actually, would you consider me truly awful if I confess that I find Ewan hotter when he's twirling a lightsaber?"

Kurt frowned in mock disapproval. "Yes. And please, God, don't make any innuendos involving swords – or lightsabers – and hot men. It would seriously lower my opinion of you."

Blaine tugged Kurt along, looking away as he bashfully explained. "Um, actually, it has more to do with long, dexterous fingers – when he's twirling the lightsabers, aside from being awesome, it's, um . . . yeah."

Kurt gaped at him. _Holy_ . . . and then, because he was a self-conscious fool, he glanced down at his own fingers. Did they qualify as long and dexterous? All at once, Kurt wanted to do something, anything that would get his boyfriend as flushed as he was right now in discussing Ewan McGregor's hands.

Obviously lightsabers were out. And his brief experience with baton twirling was a no-go too, as many a household lamp could attest.

Blaine tugged on his hand more insistently, the redness in his face going down. "Kurt? I'm sorry, did I . . . make you uncomfortable?"

Kurt immediately shook his head. "No, no. Just considering digging up my dad's copy of _The Phantom Menace_ so I can watch you drool over Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Blaine pushed him with a shoulder. "Not nice, making fun of me! Don't think I don't know about your crush on Gene Kelly!"

"Have you seen the man's biceps!" Kurt blurted out, then closed his eyes. "Oh God. I hate you."

"Hey, let's do _An American in Paris_, then, or _Singin' in the Rain_?" Blaine watched Kurt with about as much innocence as his Warbler comrades managed to convey – which was none.

"_Moulin Rouge_ it is," Kurt said firmly. "I'll forget the rest of this conversation if you do me the same courtesy."

He laughed. "We'll see." A burst of boys from down the hall, near the dining room, distracted them both. Blaine sighed. "And that's the end of lunch. I'll meet you after last period. Follow you in my car, like usual. Right?"

Kurt nodded. "I'm just going to leave my dad a message, make sure it's okay, but we should be fine."

Blaine beamed at him. "Great." He pressed one last kiss to Kurt's lips before bouncing off down the hall, getting absorbed by the crowd. Kurt exhaled quietly, and made his way to Algebra.

He stopped to look into that same gilded mirror. The pale boy looking back at him was no Ewan McGregor, that was for sure. Though his fingers were long and . . . Kurt reached into his bag, feeling stupid as he did so, pulling out his pen. He concentrated, twirling it easily between his fingers, several times. He flicked his eyes back to the mirror, and rolled them at himself. He had a boyfriend who _wanted_ him, why was he focusing on something so inconsequential?

Better focus on having that talk he'd been putting off since Blaine had told him about his father; he was turning red just thinking about it, but maybe he should take advantage of Blaine's good mood?

_The not-talking thing is still a perfectly valid option_, his mind supplied, and Kurt very much wanted to consider that option. They could totally continue on as they were . . . Until things got heated again, and Blaine scurried away as if he'd been burned. Kurt wanted to make-out with his boyfriend without counting in his head, or worrying that Blaine might be frustrated.

Well, at least he wasn't thinking of an Ewan McGregor look-alike stealing his boyfriend away with a flick of his lightsaber – _and I cannot believe you just thought that!_ Kurt yelled in his own head. He sagged, glaring at his reflection accusingly.

"Hey, Kurt – we're gonna be late, c'mon." Nick passed him, pulling on his elbow.

Kurt allowed himself to be dragged away, reminding himself of Mercedes, Rachel, and two little girls with plain admiration in their eyes. Somehow, it all gave him the strength to hold his head higher, and strut as if he was wearing his best pair of bitch boots.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kurt had a small but high quality TV in his own room, and since his dad had commandeered the living room wide-screen, he and Blaine retired upstairs. They were cuddled on his bed, which had his heart quickening in and of itself, and he could feel Blaine's own heart thrum powerfully, matching his. They managed to get past the _Elephant Love Medley_ (because one had to respect such amazingness) before giving in and exchanging fervent kisses which soon escalated to Kurt's new favourite pastime. The door was open, which he was acutely aware of, but Finn was killing aliens on his Xbox with his own door closed, and his dad was watching a couple of back-to-back episodes of _Deadliest Catch_ with Kurt's step-mom (he'd been adorably eager to share this with Carole, who had exchanged amused and affectionate glances with Kurt at Burt's enthusiasm).

They were still sitting up, somewhat, but they were also leaning in closer and closer, which had the side effect of sliding them further down on the bed. One of Blaine's arms was braced on the pillow Kurt was resting on, the other on his neck, thumb stroking behind Kurt's ear. Which was nice. Very nice.

Kurt's own arms were wrapping around Blaine's back, hugging him close, closer, as close as he could get away with. They were in contact from the waist up, and it was perfect – almost. He pushed a little more, tightened his embrace, which had Blaine fully resting on his chest, freeing the arm he was using to hold himself up. Blaine's newly freed hand immediately sought Kurt's face, thumb caressing his jaw line.

Kurt tilted his head and surged forwards, unable to get enough of this – not enough of _what_ precisely, he didn't know, but more, _more_ was needed. This was the longest he'd ever gotten away with such deep, probing kisses, and it was a heady rush that seemed endless. A soft moan shook Blaine and Kurt swallowed it greedily, refusing to part their mouths. Dimly, he could hear Ewan singing . . . something. A smug little burst of pride buoyed up in his chest, but he refused to indulge in any inner taunts to an actor that would never . . . Oh, _oh_.

Blaine had entangled their legs, which brought the rest of their bodies into contact, and . . . Kurt let out a stuttered little breath, which Blaine took into his own mouth and . . . _holy crap_. It was good, so, _so_, _good_, too _good_, _oh God_.

And then it was abruptly gone, over – Blaine practically _flew_ off of him, landing near the foot of the bed. Kurt dragged himself up, leaning back against his headboard, staring over at him, licking his lips.

The first thing that occurred to him, before Blaine could get a single syllable out was, "We need to talk."

Blaine flinched, words tumbling free, earnest and desperate. "Please, Kurt, I'm sorry, it wasn't – I should've – I swear I'm not –"

"Blaine, stop." Kurt held up a hand, taking a time-out to slow his pulse and force the heat humming throughout his body to dissipate – which wasn't too difficult, considering the vast wasteland of awkward conversation that lay before him. That was a great way to come down from a high.

Blaine actually did shut up, giving Kurt the opportunity to focus on his words; it was so cringe worthy just _thinking_ them. He distracted himself momentarily by stopping the DVD (Nini was revealing that Satine and Christian were in love to the Duke) and turning off the TV. He really didn't want to screw this up, but at the same time . . . how exactly did one open a conversation about this? Déjà vu: it was like trying to talk about it with his father.

"I know that you're fully aware of the fact that my father gave me a . . . talk. Considering that you prompted it."

Blaine groaned, shutting his eyes. "That's making this so much better, Kurt, thank you."

"That talk was actually great." Kurt ignored his boyfriend's discomfort, because, _really_, this was no picnic for him either. "The _second_ talk that he made us have, after I read various pamphlets about things that either I already knew of, or that confused me or that had me considering taking a vow of celibacy, particularly when discussing the details with my _dad_ – that was not a fun talk, Blaine. But I understand the mechanics of all of this . . ." He waved at the air between them. "And, more importantly, I am also a _boy_. My reactions are your reactions. Why do you keep acting like I'm going to break if I . . . if you . . ."

His words failed him then, and he looked to Blaine, trying to silently encourage him to speak his mind.

Blaine sat cross-legged, staring down at his hands. "Kurt, I . . . I know this kind of stuff intimidates you, and I understand that you're very much in favour of taking things slow. And so am I!" he hurried to add, glancing up, eyes wide. "I promise that anything that you give me is enough until you're ready for more, and then whatever that more is, will be enough . . . but while I know that, and accept that up here." He tapped the side of his head, biting his lip, looking anywhere but at Kurt. "The rest of me isn't quite so . . . in tune with it."

Kurt lifted his knees, resisting the urge to hug them to his chest. "I'm sorry, I don't understand . . . am I . . . Blaine, do you want more?"

"No, no." Blaine was shaking his head. "Not if –"

"Forget about me for a second – tell me what _you_ want." Kurt pushed, studying him closely. The distance between them was great enough, physically speaking, and he didn't want that to extend to their relationship – he wanted honesty, painful and embarrassing as it was. He was done with being uncertain about this.

Blaine sighed heavily. "Truthfully, Kurt? I want to kiss you for hours and hours and _hours_, and that's enough for me. It is. But sometimes, when we're doing just that, and things . . . God, I want so bad for you to, to put your hands on me, and tell me that it's _okay_ to want you so badly."

And that was . . . _whoa_. That was a revelation if ever there was one. "I'm sorry, you want me to . . . do whatever?"

"Yes, Kurt, I want you to, and I want to touch you too, but mostly I want it to be you – so I don't feel like I'm . . . taking advantage of you, or something." Blaine winced. "It's just that . . . you're so . . . sweet, and romantic, and I want to be all those things for you, but it's kind of hard when all my body wants is to . . . get off."

Kurt did not gasp at those words, but his eyes definitely widened. Blaine hissed out a breath. "Damnit, sorry. It's not always about wanting more." Here he went red. Bright red. "Sometimes what we're doing is _more than enough_, and I feel like . . . I'm going to humiliate myself. Like, in the worst way possible." Blaine's head ducked down and he groaned out his embarrassment.

Kurt's eyes did their fluttering thing, and he was smiling now, because that was flattering, wasn't it? "You know, sometimes when I feel . . . overwhelmed . . . I sing in my head."

Blaine lifted his gaze back up to Kurt's, a touch less uncomfortable, though he shifted his head to the side as he spoke, not looking at him directly. "Really? I mean, I haven't ever, um, you know, tried . . . it's difficult to . . . calm down."

"Apparently I may have greater self-control than you." He mostly succeeded in keeping the smug tone out of his voice. Mostly. "But that doesn't mean that I don't feel just as . . . on edge, as you." _And my dad says that my number is coming up soon_, but he didn't say that part out loud.

Blaine was watching him from the corner of his eyes as he inched a little closer. "You . . . you aren't . . ."

"Blaine, I'm not scared of your hard-on." Kurt could feel his face _burning_ as he said that, but it got the message across. Blaine's jaw dropped and he mouthed soundlessly. Kurt breathed out. "Mostly I was just scared of not knowing what you wanted, and wondering if maybe I was screwed-up because I was able to keep myself under control, and . . . other stuff that I've come to realize doesn't matter. Because I want you, Blaine. I will _tell_ you if something is too much. We are so past me doing things just to please you. And I am not that much of a delicate flower. Wanting romance does not equate to being a fragile princess."

Blaine seemed to regain control of his vocal chords, though his voice came out hoarse. "Wow, I really suck at this relationship thing."

"No, you don't. _We_ don't. We're just both . . . new, at this." Kurt took his cue from Blaine, sliding a little closer himself – his boyfriend was now easily within arm's reach.

Blaine nodded, rubbing at his neck self-consciously. "Sorry for freaking you out with my . . . own minor freak-outs."

"I appreciate the thought behind it, Blaine." Kurt reached over to take one of Blaine's hands in his own. "Can I ask you something though?" At Blaine's nod, he continued. "I can't believe it's only now occurred to me to ask this but . . . I'm your first boyfriend, so aren't you . . . basically as inexperienced as I am? Unless –"

"No, no, you're right – I'm as clueless as you," Blaine cut him off with a quick shake of his head. "I've kissed a guy, once, and like you I've watched _those_ movies, though . . ." He darted a look at Kurt, his cheeks red again. "I got more out of them than bad tattoo choices and the like. Sorry."

"Don't apologize for being a normal, red-blooded teenaged boy." Kurt rolled his eyes. "I'm the freak who was thinking about people's mothers instead of getting stimulated."

"Kurt, you have no idea just how awesome you are for that." Blaine's legs were touching his and Kurt was significantly less tense than he had been at the start of this whole conversation. "It's probably one of my favourite things about you, that sex isn't some end goal for you. I love that."

Kurt had to smile, and he pulled Blaine the final few inches that separated them, kissing him gently and feeling a comfortable, relaxing tingling sensation across his skin. He slid backwards, laughing as Blaine followed his mouth with his eyes still closed, and they were back to the beginning, half-reclined on the pillows, their upper torsos pressed together. They exchanged light kisses, and something else occurred to Kurt. He tugged on Blaine's shirt so that the other boy would open his eyes and look at him.

"Considering that you are as lost as I am in this, can you promise me something?"

"Done," Blaine said, kissing him soundly.

Kurt laughed against his mouth. "Wait, and listen." Blaine gave him a groan and made a big show of being attentive. Kurt slapped his shoulder, but continued. "As we're figuring this out, you . . . and me too, actually . . . we have to promise to keep talking about this, okay? No assumptions, no privately freaking out and beating ourselves up for things – we talk first, then freak out, if necessary."

Blaine nodded. "Agreed."

"_And_." Kurt blinked innocently up at Blaine. "If it ever so happens that _I_ am the one getting carried away, and you feel pressured, you tell me to stop, Blaine."

Blaine's lips parted in surprise and Kurt gathered his courage, giving his boyfriend what he hoped was a sexy smirk, though he naturally had his doubts, and then kissed that open mouth, not holding back _anything_. He could hear the slippery, wet sounds of their kiss, and Blaine's slightly muted, but definitely audible, high-pitched moans. Kurt was suddenly grateful that they weren't pressed chest to thigh as they had been earlier because . . . _yes_, he couldn't sing away his reaction to those plainly hot noises. _Oh. God._

Before Kurt could pull away and compose himself, Blaine ended the kiss, lifting himself off Kurt's chest, but collapsing right next to him instead of disappearing, and he didn't offer a cheap excuse either. He simply smiled widely, dark eyes glinting. "Ookay, that right there? That was a bit much for me. I'm going to have to be the one to call a halt because um, any further and I'll be needing different pants."

Kurt fully understood the fact that he was going to still be blushing over these things for a while yet, despite his own . . . other physical reaction (which he managed to hide with a strategically bent leg), so he both accepted and dismissed the heat in his cheeks and the slight anxious knotting of his stomach, opting to feel proud instead. "Thank you for saying so."

Blaine chuckled. "You're welcome. You're a crazily good kisser. I'm pretty sure you're a savant when it comes to making-out."

Kurt flipped over onto his side when he felt under control once more, restraining himself from fixing what he knew had to be a disaster of hair on top of his head, if Blaine's own rumpled and matted gelled locks were any indication. "Thank you. And is it okay, that we keep on just doing the making-out thing for . . . the foreseeable future?"

Blaine nodded. "Kurt, I don't think we need to schedule anything – I'm not ready yet either, but, um . . . I think I will be. Soon."

Kurt felt an imminent freak-out bubbling up, but he gave it a huge mental shove back down, and nodded. "You tell me when you think you are, but fair warning, it'll be . . . a while, for me."

Blaine grinned. "Kurt, if you keep kissing me like _that_, I'll wait for you 'til we're out of college and _married_."

Silence.

Blaine's eyes were getting to be pretty huge, and Kurt could feel another freak-out coming on – but not on his part.

No, Kurt felt like he wanted to burst out laughing.

So he did.

Blaine buried his blushing face in Kurt's shoulder, mumbling something while Kurt hugged him close, unable to stop laughing at his boyfriend's expense.

"Don't mean to break up the fun, guys, but didn't Blaine say he needed to be heading out at eight?"

Blaine froze in the circle of Kurt's arms, and then lifted a very tousled head to look over at Kurt's father standing in the doorway. Kurt grinned at his father, because at least they hadn't been caught doing what they had been doing earlier. The talk that they'd just had was every kind of awkward had Kurt figured it would be, but it had also been incredible and eased so many of the worries that had been driving him crazy for the past little while. Kurt took a fleeting glimpse at the time, seeing that it was a little past eight thirty.

"He's right, you're going to be late as it is, Blaine." Kurt sat up, straightening his clothes rather fruitlessly, then deciding there really was no point as he was going to be changing into his pyjamas soon.

Blaine, on the other hand, didn't even bother making an attempt at straightening up. He slipped off the bed, grabbing his bag and blazer, folding the latter over his arm. Kurt stood to follow him out, giving his father a smile as they walked past.

His dad gripped his shoulder once, gently, before letting go. "I'll see you later, Blaine."

"Good night, Mr. Hummel," Blaine called back as he reached the front door, shoving his feet into his discarded shoes. Kurt opened the door for him but Blaine waited for Kurt's dad to disappear into his room before leaning in to kiss Kurt good-bye. It was amazing that no matter how or for how long they kissed, Kurt always felt a rush of warmth, or heat, chased by that gut-twisting happiness.

Blaine stared at him, stroking his cheek. "I really want to bring you with me this Saturday. I want to be there, with my family's friends, showing you off."

Kurt lifted a shoulder, tilting his head. "I'd love to be there, Blaine. But that would mean you talking to your father."

Blaine sucked in a deep breath, his hand dropping down, but his smile was still dazzling. "Yeah. See you tomorrow?"

"Naturally." Kurt matched his boyfriend's happy expression, watching until Blaine was in his car, down the driveway and disappearing around a corner before shutting the door.

"There's some left over dinner, Kurt, if you want some chicken pot pie."

Kurt nodded, heading towards the kitchen, leaning into his father for a few seconds as he passed. "So, I had my door open the whole time."

"I know," his father said neutrally.

"And for how long were you eavesdropping?" Kurt asked offhandedly.

His dad blinked once, then, "Just about when Blaine was calling you a genius kisser."

Kurt blushed, but he nodded back. "Right."

"Kurt?"

Kurt waited for some sort of lecture, but all he got was a hand reaching to mess up his already messed-up hair. "Eat something before you head to bed, all right? I'll stick my head in to say good night a bit later."

And much later, when Kurt was burrowed under various covers, half-way to dreams, his father did just that. Fingers ran through his hair again, and he thought, maybe, that he heard his dad say, "I'm proud of you, Kurt."

He was too far-gone to be sure, but the familiar, work-roughened hand on his head was enough to carry him over into sleep.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **A few days ago, I had my iTunes on Shuffle while I was writing the bed scene, and the first song that came up was _Touch-a-Touch-a-Toucha Me _(and not only that, of the two versions that I have, the original one and the Glee one, it had to be the _Glee _one). I am not kidding. I had to laugh for a good five minutes before I could keep writing.

Again, it's late, but it's up! Hope it was real, and awkward, and all that good stuff that makes these boys so much fun for me to write. Your comments would be wonderful, but I'm so grateful for all of you who stop by to read, overall, so thank you to everyone, commentators or not :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Note: **Just a bit of clarification: for the purposes of this fic, neither Kurt or Blaine are boarding at Dalton. I think it's been established in canon that Kurt isn't, but I'm not sure at all about Blaine. Regardless of that, in this story, they _both_ live at home, 'cause it makes things easier on me :)

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 5**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

There were certain rules that governed life, and one in particular that Kurt firmly believed in, having seen it in practise throughout most of his adolescent years thus far: a person was allowed only so much happiness before unknowable forces reminded them of what life was really like.

Which is why, when Blaine came into their (ever since they'd kissed, Kurt had considered it _their_) common room Wednesday morning, looking rather like death,_ not_ warmed over – a total walking corpse – Kurt was instantly worried out of his mind, and bracing himself for the worst kind of news. The few guys that had been hanging around took one look at Blaine, then at Kurt, and left quickly and quietly, leaving the pair alone.

Blaine was bleary-eyed, watching Kurt as if drinking him in for the first time, before collapsing onto the couch next to him and hugging him close. Kurt put down his coffee cup and dragged Blaine in closer still.

Long moments passed before his boyfriend ventured to say anything. Blaine lifted his head off Kurt's shoulder, the leather creaking as he leaned back, adjusting himself and staring down at his lap. "I talked with my dad last night."

"Okay." Kurt said nothing else. Blaine, aside from being pale, dark bruises under his eyes indicating little to no sleep, and a redness around those same eyes and his nose which gave evidence of tears – aside from all that, he was still impeccably dressed, hair gelled down, all the appearances of normal. But there wasn't even an attempt at a happy mask today. Kurt grasped a hand because he wanted to be close without crowding him, at least until he knew the whole story.

Blaine's voice was thick and weary. "I was happy. So happy after Monday, with our talk and all. So I just risked it, put it all out there on the line: 'I have a boyfriend, dad. I'd like to introduce him to you, maybe bring him to the dinner party.' "

Kurt swallowed before speaking. "What did he say?"

Blaine tilted back until he was lying against the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. "Nothing at first. He stared at me, as if he didn't understand what I'd said. Which was soon followed by, 'Just because you have a close friend that you share some commonalities with, does not mean that he is a boyfriend, Blaine.' "

_Wow. Wow._ That was denial and spin at their finest. Kurt turned, lifting one leg onto the couch, facing Blaine, watching every flutter of eyelashes, and downturn of his mouth.

"I had no clue what to say to that, Kurt. I think this is my fault." Kurt opened his mouth, but Blaine rolled his head to look at him, lifting a hand to halt the stem of contradictions. "No, listen. The last time my father and I talked about my being gay was when I came out to my parents. I don't think that I've never mentioned it to him directly since, and any conversations with my mother on the subject have happened while he's not home. I've made it easier for him to dismiss this as a phase or to pretend that all of his attempts at making me straight have had some effect. When I had that thing with Rachel? I didn't go straight home and tell him about it, but when my parents asked were I was going, I told them the truth. Mistake. I'm sure he's been holding onto that stupid moment as proof that I can be . . . fixed."

"There's nothing about you that needs fixing, Blaine," Kurt interjected at last.

"I know that. And I . . . I started to tell him, about you, but he kept shaking his head, over and over, telling me that he had explicitly told me that this was strictly a family-only gathering. I kept pushing, and pushing, until he finally snapped."

Kurt couldn't help it; he leaned in, squeezing Blaine's hand so hard that the bones were digging into his own palm. "What happened?"

Blaine closed his eyes, rolling his head back. "Nothing dramatic. He just lost his temper, told me that it was family only, unless I was bringing a _girlfriend._"

Kurt exhaled noisily. It wasn't an ugly slur or a punch to the face, but he knew how much Blaine valued the tightrope-walking of a relationship that he had with his father. Those words had been the equivalent of a shove – a dangerous overbalance. Especially if Blaine shoved back.

"Did you lose it too?"

Blaine kept his eyes shut, but they squeezed together tighter for a second. "Yes. But not totally. I told him, fairly calmly, I think, that there would never be a girlfriend. Ever. That it was boys for me, or no one. And that I shared more with you than a love of musicals, and Vogue, and singing. That I cared about you more, in a different way, than I did Wes or David. That kissing you was _nothing_ like kissing Rachel. It was _galaxies_ apart."

Kurt was holding his breath though he didn't realize it until his lungs started aching. He released it in one big _whoosh_ of air. Blaine opened his hazel eyes then – they were dark, and gleaming. "And do you know what happened next, Kurt?"

Kurt shook his head once, resisting the urge to pull Blaine against him and hug him until everything was better. Blaine let out a wet little gasp and Kurt felt his heart speed up, his breath holding once more.

"My dad . . . he _cried_, Kurt, he actually cried." Blaine wiped at a single tear that managed to escape. "I made my father _cry_. I felt – I still feel – like a criminal. That I did this. I did this to him."

Kurt wanted to cry himself, because Blaine wasn't doing _anything_ to his father. The man was doing this to his son, because he was a coward and an ignorant bastard. Kurt didn't want to think about things from Mr. Anderson's point of view – not with Blaine sitting here next to him, destroyed and guilt-ridden because he had the audacity to be _himself_, something he had _no control _over, to the one person in the world who should accept him, _no matter what_. Maybe Kurt was spoiled by having the father that he had, but he couldn't understand why Blaine shouldn't have the same when he was so amazing.

"Blaine." His own voice was thick and cracking, but he didn't care. He knew that first period had likely already started. He didn't care about that either. "Blaine, where was your mom for all this? You told me she's more accepting than your father."

"She is, but I know that it's the one, huge thing that she and dad disagree on, and the last thing I want to do is screw up their relationship too. I waited until she was out for dinner with friends so I could talk with dad alone."

Kurt licked his lips before speaking next. "Blaine, maybe you should talk to her about this now."

Blaine said nothing in reply to that for a beat or two, another tear sliding down, this time unimpeded. "Don't you want to know what happened next?" he spoke in rush, sounding congested and looking self-conscious.

"Only if you want to tell me."

Blaine sniffed a couple of times, face turning away, and Kurt reached into Blaine's inner blazer pocket, removing his handkerchief. It got a dry laugh out of his boyfriend. "Hey, aren't you suppose to offer me yours, in a show of chivalry?"

"Are you trying to engage me in a debate about stereotypes and heteronormative behaviour? Because the implication that either one of us is a girl, or the other a knight, lends itself to that. Plus, my handkerchief is silk – as in, _for show, not for blow_."

Blaine was in the process of blowing his nose as Kurt said this, and ended up snorting and laughing, a little hysterically, but mostly genuine. Kurt smiled at this, and settled into the couch, pressing as much of his body to Blaine's as he could. When Blaine continued his story, it was a degree more calmly.

"I froze when he started crying. He got himself under control after a few minutes, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything to me after that. And all I could do was apologize, over and over, though now that I think about it, I have no clue what, exactly, I was apologizing for . . . For being myself, or bringing it up out loud? And he probably didn't know either. We just . . . parted ways. I went up to my room and pretended to do homework. I had on my emo-playlist of songs, and essentially alternated between singing, crying and not-sleeping."

"And your mom?"

"She got home late. I faked sleep when she came in to check on me, and I drove here early enough to avoid both of them this morning." Blaine smiled humourlessly at Kurt then, clearly heartbroken. "I seriously considered being my usual cowardly-self and just not telling you about this, maybe even avoiding you all day, but I saw myself in a mirror and . . . well, I'm sorry to say that it wasn't bravery that made me talk to you – just the fact that there was no way I could hide how crappy I was feeling from_ anyone_, least of all the Warblers, who would no doubt tell you."

"You are not a coward." Kurt put his head on the couch, inches away from Blaine's face. "It takes a lot of guts to sing about toys in a drawer in a crowded Gap." Blaine groaned out loud, shooting Kurt a glare – but his lips twitched upwards. Kurt raised an eyebrow in response, his lips twitching upwards as well. "And you've been plenty brave lately – standing up to the Warblers, telling me that you liked me, having an actual conversation with your dad . . . all of that took courage."

"None of that was me – it was all you," Blaine said softly. "All of those things have to do with you."

Kurt lifted a hand to stroke Blaine's damp cheek, but couldn't think of a response. He stared into his boyfriend's eyes, trying to convey everything he couldn't or didn't know how to say with his own gaze.

Blaine raised a hand to grasp the one resting on his face, pulling it down. "Kurt, would you be disappointed if I told you I want to . . . go back to way things were before? I don't want to deal with this. I don't want to have to have this hanging over me every time I walk through my front door. Please."

Again, Kurt restrained himself from pointing out the obvious, which was that 'it' was, and always had been, hanging over Blaine and his father. But this wasn't Kurt's father, and it wasn't his home – he would get to leave this school, and go home to a family that loved him as he was, no stipulations or unsaid conditions.

"So, what are you going to then?"

Blaine kissed the inside of the hand he was holding, tracing the lines of Kurt's palm, refusing to meet his eyes. "Apologize. Tell him I was out of line, and that I'll go to the party with him. Alone. I'm going to be perfectly nice to Claire, but make sure she knows that I'm taken. It will be as much of a compromise as I can give him."

"Do these friends of the family know that you're gay?" Kurt asked curiously.

"I haven't seen them much, except in passing, since I was twelve so unless my parents have mentioned it, which I doubt, then no. But I'm not going to lie." He was suddenly fierce, and Kurt fell back on one hand, eyes widening. "If anyone asks who my 'girlfriend' is, I will tell them my _boyfriend_ is Kurt Hummel, and he's incredible and sings better than anyone on Broadway and is the _best_ friend I've ever had. And my father will . . . just have to deal." He was crying a bit by the end of that brief tirade but his expression was one of grim determination, his eyes alight with anger. Kurt could feel his own heart pounding because . . . that had been rather _hot_. And since he was perfectly within his rights to kiss the hell out of his hot boyfriend, he did just that, with Blaine reciprocating within a millisecond.

At some point they ended up horizontal on the couch, Blaine beneath him, arching and moaning, and Kurt concentrating on doing everything in his power to keep him overwhelmed and incapable of coherent thought. Mind, this was also the state he himself was rapidly falling into – but Blaine _needed_ this, and Kurt _wanted_ to give it to him, so how could it be . . . And then their hips lined up and _God, yes!_ _Yes . . . But no, no, not yet, not here_.

"Blaine –"

"I know," his boyfriend gasped out. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes. "Um, don't move or . . . _move_ but don't –"

Kurt was actually _trembling_ and he quite suddenly had a great deal of respect for Blaine, for all those times he managed to pull away without . . . _oh wow_, this was crazy intense. He shut his own eyes and lifted himself off Blaine gingerly. Before he could pull away entirely, Blaine reached up and grabbed his arm. "Wait."

"Blaine, there is _no way_ that I'm –"

"No." They both opened their eyes at the same time, and Kurt swallowed drily, because a dishevelled Blaine was an unbearably attractive Blaine, and he could lean down a couple of inches and press their hips together again and_ push_ . . . but no, _no_. Turned on or not, his stomach did its nervous, nauseated knotting thing, and he wasn't ready, and they were at school and . . .

"Kurt, I'm not suggesting . . . I just . . . stay with me." Blaine shifted, pressing himself against the back of the couch as much as he could, leaving room for Kurt to lie down next to him.

Kurt's arms were starting to tense and hurt from holding himself up, hovering above Blaine. "Blaine, we're going to be in trouble as it is – first period started who knows how long ago, and –"

"I can count on one hand the number of times I've skipped class, Kurt – and still have fingers left over. I'm sure it's the same for you. Please. We won't make a habit of this, I promise."

Kurt thought about it, avoiding Blaine's eyes because that way led to folding like a cheap suit. What he had told Blaine on Monday held true – there was a lull in homework this week, and he had no tests or presentations to worry about. His first class was European history, and he could recite the lineage of all royal families – including all the various mistresses and lines of illegitimate children – for almost every country on that continent going back to before they were even countries.

"All right," Kurt breathed, carefully coming back down, this time beside Blaine instead of on top of him. Blaine's sigh of relief was long and grateful. As soon as Kurt managed to find a semi-comfortable position, Blaine hugged him close, his head on Kurt's chest, giving Kurt a little more room on the couch as he shifted part way on top of him. It was relatively cramped – Blaine was just able to fit lengthwise, whereas Kurt's extra inch or two of height had him resting at an odd angle, but amidst their tangle of limbs, they fit together and around each other.

Less than five minutes later, Blaine fell asleep. Although Kurt had been chanting resolutely to himself not to do the same, he hadn't had enough of his coffee to aide in his plight and soon enough, Blaine's rhythmic breathing lulled him into a light doze.

He woke up to a gentle nudging against his shoulder.

He blinked himself awake, having not fully realized that he'd drifted off until lucidity crept in on him, bit by bit. He found himself staring up at Wes, who gave him a half-smile, sitting down on the table across from the couch, and whispering, "Second period is going to start soon. Do you think he's up to it?"

Kurt stared for a full minute before understanding what Wes was asking him. He turned his head back to Blaine, who was cuddled and splayed out on the left side of Kurt's chest, breath coming out in soft snores due to his stuffy nose. He still looked drained and unwell, but he was much more at ease, and not only because he was currently out cold.

"I don't know – he didn't sleep at all last night," Kurt whispered back. He did not want to explain anything else – he wasn't sure Blaine wanted his friends to know the details, though it was likely Wes and David were aware of Blaine's problems with his father.

Wes frowned, but didn't ask why, to Kurt's everlasting relief. "Is . . . is there anything I can do?"

Kurt thought for a moment before requesting, "Maybe get his homework from his first period class?"

"Already done – Trent has yours, by the way – we made excuses for you, though considering your track record, not much explanation was required," Wes said briskly, though his tone was quiet. "We should bring him to the nurse – there's an actual bed there, and he can sleep more comfortably."

Kurt wanted to say yes, but once Blaine was awake again, he wasn't entirely sure if he would be open to the idea of playing hooky and sleeping the rest of his morning away.

"He's going to hate himself for missing class." Wes appeared to study Blaine more closely, and his frown deepened, eyes narrowing. "But if you think he needs the sleep, then . . ."

Kurt inhaled deeply, and although his chest rose and fell dramatically, Blaine didn't stir at all. Small indicator though it was, Kurt made that the basis of his decision. "We'll stay here. I have Mr. Naylor next, do you think –"

"We'll take care of it. David will bring you lunch, you just . . . make sure he's okay." Wes' voice lost its inflexible, formal quality – the worry seeped in, and a touch of uncertainty. He smiled faintly at Kurt before standing up and walking out.

Kurt wanted to ask him to keep people out of the room until lunch, but Wes was already out the door, shutting it swiftly and silently behind him. No matter. These were the same Warblers that had scoped out every conceivable hiding place in the school, and redirected Kurt and Blaine as they became available during opportune times. For all he knew, there were several Warblers standing guard outside.

Blaine's snoring tapered off, and for a moment Kurt thought he was waking up, but all he did was re-adjust himself a little, the hand that had been resting on Kurt's chest sliding down, wrapping around Kurt's waist now. He scrutinized Blaine, but his breathing was regular and deep, and . . . was that drool? Something small in him recoiled, but the larger part of him was indifferent, interested only in the heat Blaine's body provided. He inhaled deeply again, because he knew he could get away with it, and let his eyelids fall shut. He wasn't sleepy anymore, but he was bizarrely comfortable, and this tender closeness he had to Blaine, it wasn't something he wanted to end. Not yet.

Kurt hugged Blaine to him, Blaine's own hold tightened, and Kurt spent the next hour or so, alternating between watching his boyfriend breathe and counting each and every one of his long, dark eyelashes.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kurt arrived home much later than he normally did. Blaine had woken up as David arrived with their lunch, and he'd been horribly discomfited by his behaviour, which manifested itself in endless apologies to Kurt. Kurt had insisted that if Blaine stayed with him after school, with both of them catching up on their missed morning classes, then the debt would be repaid. He'd been working on the assumption that Blaine would be in no hurry to get home, and he was right, based on the glowing (if not a little weary) smile he got in return. But it also made it cruelly difficult to say good-bye to him when the time came to leave – they'd spent a good twenty minutes by Kurt's car saying 'good-bye' before Blaine trudged, head down, to his own vehicle.

Kurt sighed to himself, locking the door as his dad shouted a greeting to him from the kitchen, which Kurt returned, albeit faintly and tiredly.

His father immediately stopped whatever he was doing, wiping his hands on a dish cloth as he approached. "Hey, you get all that extra homework finished?"

Kurt nodded, rubbing at his eyes – he couldn't seem to get his body back in gear since his morning nap. "Yeah, all done. And that's it for tonight, too." Blaine had figured they might as well finish _all_ their homework for the day, and Kurt had been powerless to resist the badly disguised pleading.

His father was studying him, saying nothing for a minute.

"Dad, it's . . . fine." Which was a lie, but just the same, it had to be said.

His father appeared doubtful when he finally spoke, "Okay. Go wake up Finn, dinner's about done."

Kurt dropped his bag onto the floor, taking off his Dalton sweater and folding it with great care, resting it on top of his discarded messenger bag and reaching to pull off his shoes as he did so. He loosened his tie, popping open the first few buttons of his shirt as he turned towards the living room. Finn was splayed out on the couch, listening to his iPod. From Kurt's vantage point, all he could see was the top half of his stepbrother's head, and his feet poking out from the other end. It made him smile. Finn was asleep, his eyes closed, the music loud even from several feet away.

It was too good an opportunity to pass up and he was in desperate need of cheering up.

Picking up a soft but rather large pillow from his dad's armchair, he approached the couch, debating which angle would allow him the quickest escape. He decided leaning over the back of the couch would probably be best. He held the pillow braced between two hands, out in front of him as if it were a shield. Peeking over the top and down, he saw Finn, blissfully unawares, and lightly dozing, the almost perfectly audible . . . _hmm, the Ramones? Damn, Finn's infecting me with his taste in music. Or lack thereof. At least it's not Air Supply._

He waited, breathless, lifting the pillow up over his head . . . then down in a perfect, wonderful arc, smashing his stepbrother in the face.

Finn jerked awake with a muffled yell that sounded vaguely like, "What the hell!"

Kurt was laughing, turning to run, but Finn's stupidly long arms were reaching for him, grabbing the back of his shirt, and _yanking_. He let out a shout as he was dragged up and over the back of the couch, struggling as Finn hollered, "You're so dead, Kurt!" And then a pillow was coming at him at breakneck pace – Kurt managed to duck despite his half-reclined position, reaching for a viable weapon – he gripped another pillow by its corner, swinging it upwards and catching the side of Finn's head. Finn yelped, which had Kurt snorting as he attempted to escape those annoyingly huge limbs yet again. But he got tangled in a blanket, which Finn used to his advantage and then his stepbrother took a totally cheap shot.

_"Finn!"_ Kurt shouted, half in outrage, half to keep from laughing hysterically as Finn sought that spot in his side that rendered him absolutely helpless.

_"Kurt!"_ Finn mimicked his tone, completely unsympathetic, _the evil jerk_. "That's what you get, dude!"

"Finn!" Kurt tried to squirm away, tried to stop from laughing, but he was failing miserably. "Stop it! Not fair!"

"Not fair? You started it!" And Kurt would've have retaliated if it weren't for the fact that he was now crying from laughter, shrilly demanding Finn stop because he literally could not breathe. He tried to reach for the spot he knew would reduce Finn to a completely hopeless wreck, but he was running out of oxygen, and that was sort of taking priority.

"Hey, cut that out you two! I've finally made something worth eating, so quit tryin' to murder each other and get over here!"

Kurt gulped in huge amounts of air as Finn _finally _let up . . . only for Kurt to kick at him with his foot, landing a solid blow to his stomach. Finn wheezed and glared, and Kurt glared right back, because he was probably painfully crimson all over, and he was certainly all sweaty and wrinkled – all his annoying sasquatch-of-a-brother's fault. The fact that he launched the first blow was irrelevant.

"You promised," Kurt accused.

"Hey, it so doesn't apply to sneaky sneak-attacks," Finn defended himself. "You brought it upon yourself."

"Ugh, we didn't agree on any exceptions, Finn." Kurt glowered as he attempted to pull himself together. "It's such a _childish, cliché_ thing to do. And such a low blow."

"It's not like kicking someone in the nads," Finn said dismissively with an accompanying eye roll.

"I said cut it out," came the sternly repeated words from the dining room, though his father failed at disguising the amusement and affection in his tone. "If this food gets cold, trust me, I will not let either of you touch the microwave or the stove to re-heat it. Get your butts in those chairs."

Kurt gave Finn one quick poke in a spot underneath his ribs, and Finn's high pitched squeal was so worth having to bolt in a very undignified way to the safe haven in line of sight of his dad. Finn was bitching under his breath as he entered and Kurt just smiled beatifically at his father, sitting down and unfolding his napkin primly onto his lap. "Thanks for dinner, dad."

"No problem." His father was piling salad on his plate, under Kurt's approving eye, and then offering the bowl to Kurt. "Carole still has that weird new schedule, so she's going to be at work 'til late. Make sure to leave something left over for her, though." He sounded tired on Carole's behalf, and Kurt sympathized – he hadn't seen much of his stepmother this past week, and he was beginning to miss her presence around the house himself.

Finn frowned at the mention of leaving food aside, and Kurt smothered his own laughter into his shoulder. Leftovers were something of a rarity, due in large part to Finn's ravenous appetite.

They ate dinner while chatting amicably about school, the shop and other such subjects. Finn's 'Rule Breaking' came up again, inevitably.

"We clearly stipulated in the Rules of Engagement –"

"Dude, there are _no rules_ for stuff like this!"

Kurt grinned maliciously. "That's not what you said when I grabbed the back of your briefs and –"

"Okay, fine, so there are _some_ rules." Finn darted a glance at his stepfather, but Kurt's dad was eating his food without volunteering any sort of intervention this time. "Wedgies are not part of the deal, but tickling should totally be –"

The thing was that Kurt had no previous experience with roughhousing beyond the abuse that was heaped on him at school. In fact, the first time he'd teased Finn to the point of getting tackled to the floor, he'd been shocked and made to feel more than a little afraid by the action. Finn had let him up the moment he felt Kurt freeze in his grasp, apologizing profusely. Kurt had let it go easily but for whatever reason, he'd leapt at his stepbrother the instant his back was turned and things had pretty much devolved from there.

It was oddly . . . _fun_. And _satisfying_ because despite being far more slender, he was almost past shoulder-height to Finn, and had fairly decent reflexes – they were more evenly matched than some people realized. Kurt, after nearly being tickled to death in one instance and having given Finn a brutal wedgie in another instance that led to Finn crying 'Foul!', decided to make 'rules.' Most of them applied to Kurt, as in: _Mess-up my hair when it is perfect and I am about to go out, or someone is about to come over, and I will end you._ Or along the lines of: _See these sweaters, these shirts, these jeans etc. If you decide to engage me in battle when I'm wearing these items and they become ripped, wrinkled or pulled out of shape? I will do worse than end you, I will send records of your Internet history to Jewfro and our parents._ And so on.

Kurt was about to threaten to bring up Finn's Internet history again when his phone vibrated in his pocket, making him jump. He took it out subtly, but not subtly enough.

"Kurt, you know how I feel about cell phones at the dinner table," his father said quietly. Ever since they'd all moved in together, it had been a rule his father and Carole enforced any time they were sitting to a meal as a family, and generally speaking, it was a rule Finn and Kurt had no trouble following. Kurt bit his lip, reading Blaine's text, (_Going to talk to my dad again – I'll let you know how it goes. And by the way, you're amazing_). "Sorry, it's just . . . Blaine's having some problems, and it's rather personal, but he needs me."

His dad was immediately concerned, as Kurt knew he would be. "How personal? Do you wanna talk about it?"

Kurt didn't have the energy to try and think of an excuse or cover-up. "It's . . ." He glanced towards Finn, who was clearly curious, but trying to act like his food was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. "It's . . . family type problems." He didn't feel comfortable exposing said family problems to his own. Blaine hadn't exactly stated that Kurt keep it to himself, but his boyfriend hadn't offered up any explanations to Wes or David when they asked what was wrong, and he'd been fairly tight-lipped on the subject after his morning nap. Then again, Rachel and Mercedes knew about it, and Blaine hadn't been upset about that – but things were different now.

Kurt's father was watching him with those knowing eyes. Somehow, while feeling uncertain, it also felt _right_ to tell his dad, and he knew Finn would be respectful of his privacy in this case.

"Blaine's father isn't . . . the most accepting of the whole gay thing."

The concern on his father's face went up a few notches as he shoved his plate away. "Is it something serious? Do we need to . . . do something or call someone?"

Kurt shook his head. "No, no. It's not like that. Blaine's fine, I mean physically, and it's not like his father is yelling abuse at him daily. It's just . . . Mr. Anderson's under the impression that being gay, at least for Blaine, is a passing fancy or act of teen rebellion. It's been weighing on Blaine since he came out, but now . . ."

"Now that he has a boyfriend, it's really getting to him," his dad finished.

Finn cleared his throat. "I'll just get started on the dishes."

Kurt gave Finn a grateful look as the boy began gathering up all the plates and utensils into one precarious pile and hauling them off towards the kitchen.

"He wants to take me to a family dinner party," Kurt explained softly. "But his father told him last night, flat-out, that the only person that he would consider acceptable company would be a girlfriend. Blaine took it pretty hard – apparently that's the first time his dad's ever come right out and said that he doesn't approve of . . . him."

"Like the man has a choice." His dad's snort was a loud and obvious manifestation of his annoyance. "Blaine is what he is, and it's stupid to think less of him for it. It's like asking him to be left-handed if he's really right-handed, or somethin'."

Kurt knew that his father would say something like that, but that didn't stop the words from warming him right down to his toes. Finn came back in to gather up the various pots and large dishes.

"Thanks for this, buddy. Make sure you make a plate for your mom and put it in the fridge," his dad reminded his stepson with a quick grin. Finn nodded and darted quickly back into the kitchen.

"You know, when Blaine came by and talked to me about . . . you . . ." His father smiled apologetically and Kurt shrugged, smiling back and gesturing at him to continue. "He mentioned something about rebuilding a car couple summers ago and that he was pretty sure his dad did it 'cause it might make him switch teams. It's kinda funny in a weird way, 'cause fixing cars with you, it helped me deal with . . . well, _you_."

Kurt cocked his head, confused. "Sorry, but how?"

His dad slouched down his chair, reminiscing with a tender smile on his face, one that made Kurt feel about three feet tall and six years old.

"I told you, I've known who you are since you were three, but dealin' with it was a whole different ballgame," he said ruefully. "Your mom had it a bit easier than I did – it took her only a couple of years to come to terms with it and accept it, and then she tried to help me deal. But she could only help so much, I didn't know what do about 'sensible heels' or your crush on Aladdin or the guy from _The Little Mermaid_ –"

"Dad!" Kurt couldn't help the whine – those were some seriously embarrassing childhood memories. He hoped like hell they never came up when Blaine was over.

"And man, don't get me started on those tiaras – I know you think me comin' down on you for those was some kind of 'makin' you straight' thing on my part, but Kurt, when you were little, the _tantrums_ you used to throw because your mom wouldn't let you leave the house wearing them . . . they were nightmare worthy, kiddo. One thing you've never had a problem with is lung capacity. And, well, I knew what kind of things people would to say to you, if you wore 'em . . . or if people found out that you collected them." His dad looked so depressed by that, Kurt couldn't let it stand.

"That didn't stop you from letting me dress-up like Maleficent for Halloween when I was seven."

His dad's forlorn face broke into a grin. "That's because I found it hilarious that the one Disney villain that scared the crap out of me as a kid was the one _you_ thought was cool. And damned if your mom didn't make your costume as freaky as that witch was in the movie – you scared half your grade to death with it."

Kurt remembered Bobby Gladswell, a nasty little jerk who liked to put mud-pies in people's back-packs, falling on his ass when Kurt snuck up behind him, letting loose an evil cackle, flicking his cape threateningly and with great dramatic poise. The boy had burst into tears and hidden under his desk. _Ah, good times._

"But how did my helping you out in the shop help with . . . your coping?" Kurt asked, genuinely curious.

"Because, it showed me that being gay isn't any different than being left-handed or right-handed, and it matters about as much when you're looking at a person. You had these little coveralls, and you had your mom sew your name with the glitter thread –"

"I remember, dad, no need for the extra details." Kurt grimaced. The fact that he'd ripped that specially embroidered nametag and re-sewn it onto his current set of cover-alls was not at all pertinent to this conversation.

His dad just laughed, throwing his napkin at Kurt to hush him. "And standing on a big crate, leaning over an engine and pointing out the parts to anyone who stood still long enough. You taught Leo's nephew, that idiot twenty-something with some fancy college degree, how to do an oil-change when you were _ten_. That pretty much told me that you'd be okay in life, no matter who you ended up falling in love with."

Kurt ducked his head, inhaling wetly. He was lucky. So very, very lucky. He lifted his gaze, blinking back tears. "Thanks, dad."

"Kurt, don't you dare thank me for being a father to you. It's what any man should do for his son, no questions asked," his dad growled out. "Listen, the most you can do for Blaine is be there, for him. But if he ever needs a place to crash or just get away, for a bit, you let him know that he's always welcome here."

Kurt smiled widely. "I will."

"Just as long as you also explain that he will be staying on the fold-out couch, in the living room. And there's a bathroom down here so, you know, there's no reason for him to be goin' upstairs in the middle of the night. Or for you to come down here."

"Dad, relax, he hasn't stayed over yet." Kurt stood up, tucking in his chair, waiting for his dad to do the same.

When his father passed by him, he couldn't resist putting an arm around him, and it was only natural for his father's arm to come up and wrap around his shoulder. Lately it felt like he'd been getting about as many hugs from his father as used to get when he was still small enough to be swung up into the man's arms – and he had to admit that he hadn't realized how much he'd missed those big, exhilarating embraces. These small ones were nice though, and he rather enjoyed being able to take them whenever he wanted, knowing that others were not so fortunate when it came to who their parents were.

Finn had loaded up the dishwasher, scrubbed clean all the pots and pans used, and pretty much wiped down the entire kitchen. He stood, playing with a dirty dishtowel, glancing over at the two of them. "So, um, there's this Reds game on in about five minutes, and I've got no homework today, or none that's due tomorrow, anyways . . ."

"All right, load up the fat-free, salt-free chips and diet soda," his dad said, clapping Finn on the shoulder. "It's cool by me, Finn. And you did a great job on the kitchen, by the way. Too bad you can't make this a habit." He gave Finn a slight push with one shoulder, indicating that he was joking.

"How come Kurt doesn't get ragged on to clean the kitchen!" Finn complained as he happily gathered up their provisions.

Kurt sniffed. "That's because I do _all _the laundry in the house on a regular basis, and the recycling. Without being told a thousand times."

Finn flung the dishtowel he'd been toying with at Kurt, who snatched it out of thin air and flipped it into the sink. He stuck his tongue out, because he was just in that sort of childish mood. Finn only grinned back, crossing his eyes.

"You wanna sit down and chill with us, bro?" he asked, brushing by Kurt as he headed for the couch.

Kurt contemplated it for a moment. "Can I bitch about the stirrup pants to my heart's content?"

"Only for the first three innings, then you gotta switch to bitching about something else," his father said warningly, though his expression was full of fondess as he shoulder-checked Kurt on his way to gather some dip for the chips.

Kurt shrugged. "That shouldn't be a problem. Give me a second to change – I've been in this uniform for far, far too long."

His dad waved at him to go ahead as he settled in the couch, readjusting the pillows Kurt and Finn had left strewn about. As Kurt climbed the stairs to his room, his phone vibrated again, and he glanced down at the screen. _Everything's back to "normal". Pretending like it never happened. We're sitting down to watch the Reds game. See you tomorrow. And by the way, you mean the world to me._

Kurt smiled down at the phone. He sent back a simple, _Me too_, with a 'less than' symbol and a three. He didn't want to tell Blaine about watching the game with _his_ dad. It felt a bit too much like bragging. Which made him feel sad, and heartbroken for his boyfriend. But aside from sending Mr. Anderson somewhere to have his head examined, or forcing his dad to adopt Blaine . . .

"Hey, Kurt, hurry up – the first inning's started! The more time you take, the less time you have to tell Finn and me exactly why these pants are designed by the devil!"

Kurt rolled his eyes skyward and continued on up the stairs. After the stirrup pants, he was so starting in on the jerseys and the shoes. And after that, there were sure to be many a painful outfit or hairstyle amongst the hicks actually attending the game. He could almost feel his eyes hurting in advance.

He glanced down at his phone one more time, biting his lip, and then sent off one last text:

_If you want, call me after the game. We've missed a few late night chats, and I believe it's my turn to sing you a lullaby._

He got a reply just as he finished putting on his pyjamas.

_Have I told you lately, that you move me? ;) _Three hearts followed after the text_._

Kurt ducked his head even though no one was there to see his love-struck expression, and he laughed at himself as he went back down the stairs to the shouts and groans of his father and stepbrother, and a huge wide-screen filled with scenes of men in ugly, dirty jerseys and stirrup pants.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **Just for the record, Maleficent _and _Ursula scared the living crap out of me as a kid. Even now, Maleficent gives me the shivers, and that scene in the Little Mermaid when Ursula gets all huge and _terrifying? _Yeah, I totally watch that from between the fingers covering my eyes.

And, so much for daily updates – sorry for keeping you all waiting! Much to love to all of you for reading this, and a big thank you whoever it was who rec'ed this fic over at the Kurt/Blaine community on livejournal – thank you so very, very much!


	6. Chapter 6

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 6**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

The next day Blaine looked a lot better, though there were faint dark bruises under his eyes and his smiles weren't quite as bright or wide.

Kurt managed to provoke a few bouts of laughter with a scathing commentary on the latest episode of Project Runway. After that small success, he made a bolder move as soon as they had more than five minutes together; Kurt shoved him into the corner of that hidden alcove by the library, kissing and writhing against him until Blaine had to beg Kurt to step away before things got out of hand. Kurt knew Blaine did not walk away from that to think about his father, if the shocked and flushed expression was anything to go by. The way Blaine had been hungrily eying him up, head to toe, and seemed to be unable to stop himself from licking his lips every few seconds . . . To say that Kurt was having serious doubts about his own lack of sex appeal would be putting it very lightly.

Of course, such raging insecurities have a way of bursting forth at the slightest provocation, such as later that school day; Blaine's announcement that he was going to go home and eat an entire apple pie while watching all three Star Wars prequels sparked Kurt's irrational envy of Obi-Wan Kenobi and the Scottish jerk who played him.

After school, Blaine had sought vengeance for Kurt's wanton make-out session by pressing him against the driver-side door of his SUV, mapping out the inside of Kurt's mouth, causing his hands to clench around Blaine's shoulders tightly.

"I'll call you later, all right?" Blaine breathed out against his lips.

Kurt nodded, smiling although his mind was occupied with lightsabers and the men who wielded them. "Have fun."

"Lightsabers, Kurt. Fun is basically implied." A raised eyebrow and smirk accompanied this statement.

"Was that a poor attempt at an innuendo? Blaine, you know what I told you about such craven forms of humour," Kurt warned.

But his boyfriend only laughed. "Trust me, you'll _know_ when I'm making a lewd joke or reference. It will be obvious, shameless, and likely end in you hitting me."

Kurt sighed heavily. "Begone, you base creature. Enjoy your movie."

Blaine waggled his eyebrows and Kurt groaned, flicking him away with his hand.

It was about an hour later, nearing his home, when he received a phone call. Pressing the button quickly to put it on speaker, he answered, "Hello?"

"So, theoretically, if I were to make a joke now about red lightsabers and long lasting batteries, how much would you hate me?"

Kurt glared down at his cell while he paused at a traffic light. "I will hang up the phone and refuse to talk to you later tonight."

Blaine was chuckling giddily. "What about a tame one about Luke's saber and –"

"Blaine," Kurt cut him off. "If you want to ever kiss me again, you will not complete that sentence."

Blaine was laughing, and Kurt knew that he was doing a fine job of keeping his boyfriend happy and distracted, but somehow, it wasn't enough.

_I am _not_ jealous of Ewan McGregor_, he told himself sternly. He _wasn't_ because that would be _stupid_ and incredibly _immature_. He told Blaine to have his fun while watching the twirling lightsabers, and then made him renew his promise not to make any horrible insinuations at any point in time that swords or sabers were mentioned.

When he hung up the phone, depressed and guilt-ridden for his silly, self-centred thoughts, he decided that the only way to distract himself thoroughly was to go to his father's shop and help to either build something or take it apart, with lots of potentially dangerous equipment so he would _have to_ devote full concentration to whatever he was doing.

With a quick stop to change into more comfortable (and not necessarily his best) clothes, Kurt hopped back into his car and headed to Hummel's Tire and Lube. His father wasn't anywhere in sight when he pulled in, but Leo was, a massive six and a half foot tall man with an ever-present bright grin and one of his dad's oldest friends and mechanics. He was waving at him as he got out of the SUV.

"Hey, Leo, is my dad around?"

"Well, hello to you too, Kurt, how you've been?" A huge paw of a hand came down across Kurt's back, sending him stumbling a few feet forward.

He righted himself easily, smiling up at the big man. "Sorry, didn't mean to be rude. I was just wondering if I could help out today."

A wide grin met this statement, and Leo doffed off his cap, making Kurt laugh despite himself. "Anything for our prince, your highness," he said, referring to an old joke – as old as Kurt was – and Kurt gave him a matching grin because he still liked being called that.

"And yeah, there's _the_ oldest Trans Am ever in the back. Mr. Calder totally blew his engine this time. There might be no saving it."

Kurt was already looking forward to it. He inhaled the smell of grease, sweat, metal and oil, feeling reassured. "What about my dad?"

"He's dealing with Mrs. Grant, so you know he'll be on the phone for a while. Last I heard she's telling him about the third grand-kid, so that's another twelve to go."

Kurt nodded. "Okay. I'll just head over to Calder's car, then, okay?"

"Go to it, kid. There isn't much more damage you can do to the thing that hasn't already been done, so don't be afraid to screw up. I know it's been a while since you've gotten your hands dirty."

Kurt turned his nose up, staring at the man haughtily. "Is that a challenge, Leo?"

Leo's grin was teasing. He scratched at his grease-stained jaw, and then made an attempt at wiping some of those same grease-stains off his coffee-toned skin – which was as smooth as Kurt's own was, as a result of him sharing some his moisturizing secrets with the burly man. Leo had had some serious issues with dryness and the like, but no more, thanks to Kurt's impressive talents in that area. "Naw, I learned my lesson early with you. Have fun."

Those two little words had his shoulders drooping. Two stupid, insignificant words reminded him of his moronic problems, and he walked determinedly to the backroom, seeking out his coveralls so he could get to work and _forget_ again.

He headed into the work area, grim-faced and heaving his own personal tool-box, and not expecting to find Carole sitting in front of a work bench, scrutinizing an engine. He stared and when Carole didn't notice him looking, he walked over. She was chewing on her lip, holding up a carburetor, glaring as if it had offended her in some way.

"Hi Carole," Kurt said as he approached, putting the toolbox down with a heavy slam.

Her head shot up, and her frustrated expression eased into a happy smile. "You're dressed for work – did your dad ask you to come in?"

"No, no, I just felt like helping out, and there's a Trans Am begging to be mutilated." Kurt raised his eyebrows, taking the carburetor from her. "Um, is this a career change I'm watching unfold here? Because I know they've been giving you really horrible hours at your job but –"

"No, that's not it at all." She took the part back from Kurt, glancing at it once and then dumping it unceremoniously onto the bench. "No, it is entirely your father's fault that I'm here. On my first solid day off in God knows when, I'm playing mechanic." Carole huffed a bit as Kurt laughed behind his hands. She gave him a mock glare, before explaining, "I made the mistake of telling him a story about this mechanic that screwed me over years ago. So now, he insists the I know the ins and outs of an engine, in case the car breaks down and he isn't there to fix it – you can't be conned if you know better than the mechanic what your car needs."

Kurt nodded. "He gave me the same lecture when I was nine. Want some help?"

Carole frowned. "No, I'm going to figure this damn thing out. He and I have a bet going. I have to finish this before he finishes the day."

"What does the winner get? Actually," Kurt hurried on. "Never mind, I don't want to know."

Carole raised an eyebrow, a happy, knowing little smile on her face. "Good choice."

Kurt groaned, but ended on a laugh as he pulled up a stool and sat down next to Carole as she puzzled over the engine.

"So, did you want to talk about something?" she asked as she stared at two different pieces, utterly confused.

Kurt sighed, crossing his arms. "No, nothing in particular."

"Really? Everything's fine with school, with your friends . . . with your boyfriend?" Kurt's gaze shifted from her to the floor, and she turned just in time to catch it. "Ah. All right, honey, let's hear it."

Kurt toyed with denying it further, and even flicked through a few choice cover stories. But his week so far had been full of such sharp highs and lows that he was mentally exhausted, and Carole had already seen right through him. There was a good chance that if he managed to deflect her today, she would bring it up again tomorrow. And the day after that. Maybe there was something to be gained in giving in to her light prodding.

This wasn't something he wanted to ask Mercedes about because she would just roll her eyes, tell him he was being an idiot, that he was a sexy bitch and needed to get over himself. Finn was _so not_ a viable option for this conversation either, and Rachel, as much as he'd come to love and appreciate her as a friend, still grated his nerves and made him entertain vivid fantasies of leaving her tied up in a random cellar. Or something. He couldn't even think of appropriate vengeful fantasies anymore, and that was a pretty big indication of how tired and stressed he was.

"You already know about the whole thing with Blaine's dad, right?" he started without preamble. It was a fair assumption, one Carole was quick to confirm.

"Yes, your dad told me all about it. And you know that's not your fault, right?"

"Yes, I do. I fully blame it all on Mr. Anderson. Blaine's doing better, but it gets to him, I can tell. He doesn't want to talk about it anymore, because he's all about the denial. I can tell how much it bothers him, though; he knows he's hurting someone no matter what he does and it just sucks all around. For everyone."

Carole rubbed his back. "You seem to have a good grasp on the situation."

Kurt buried his face in his hands. "Actually, no, I don't. I'm an awful, awful boyfriend."

"Why on earth would you say that?"

"_Because_ even with everything that Blaine is going through, I still have this . . . thing, this other problem that I'm trying to deal with, and it's so _shallow_." He dropped his hands, rubbing them on his thighs, feeling that familiar embarrassment bubble up, colouring his cheeks. What was this, his second or third painfully awkward conversation in a week? He had to stop himself from addressing a non-existent God once more and demanding that he prove his existence by sparing Kurt further humiliation.

Carole turned on her stool to face him directly, leaning an elbow on the dirty bench. "Kurt, it's okay, I promise I'm not going to judge you. I've had one son tell me he got his girlfriend pregnant, remember? I think the fact that Finn is still around to leave dirty dishes in the sink without rinsing them proves that I can be pretty easy-going and not overly judgemental."

"Finn did a great job on the kitchen yesterday." Kurt had to point this out because Finn deserved the credit. "So your methods of parenting are not being called into question, it's just . . . What Blaine's going through is serious, and a part of it has to do with me, for all that it isn't my fault. At least, I may have . . . accelerated things between him and his father. And yet, I'm dwelling on my own, markedly _less_ important issues."

"It's something that's been bothering you for a while though, right?" Carole asked, putting a supportive hand on his leg.

Kurt shrugged. "Yes and no. I suppose it's been something of an on-going thing since I hit puberty, but being with Blaine has made me really think about it."

"Okay, so, let's have it."

Kurt pressed his lips together, forcing himself to carefully consider his words, having learned from his previous conversations on awkward subject matter. "I . . . Blaine's really handsome, right? This isn't just me wearing my boyfriend goggles – he's a good looking guy."

Carole raised an eyebrow. "Keeping in mind that everyone has different standards of beauty . . . yeah, I think it's safe to say that your boyfriend is everything you described him to be. I mean, he's no Burt Hummel." The beginnings of a leer were on her face and Kurt had to shut his eyes and wave it off.

"_Carole_," he groaned, because as far as he was concerned, his father stopped having sex as soon as Kurt had been conceived. Thinking of any other alternative could only lead to intensive therapy.

Carole grinned. "Sorry, it's just too easy with you, Kurt. Tell me more, honey."

Kurt breathed out through his nose, staring up at the high ceiling, then down at his shoes. "I just think we look kind of mismatched, don't we? Kind of like, in the physical sense, Blaine is dating _beneath_ him somehow –"

"No." It was plain, not firm or harsh, simply blunt. "You're one of the brightest boys I know, and one of the kindest and sweetest. I'm a little biased as your stepmom but _Blaine_ is the one who's lucky to have found you."

He winced. "See, this is the part where it gets shallow. Nowhere in those praises did I hear _and you're just as handsome as he is_. Because I know that Blaine finds me funny, and kind and compassionate. I even understand that he's attracted to me. But, somehow, I feel like . . ."

"Like he's doesn't find you attractive?" Carole sounded both dubious and confused. "How can you understand his attraction to you but doubt it at the same time?"

Kurt threw his hands up. "I don't know! All I know is that he thinks Ewan McGregor is sexy, and he _never_ talks that way about me."

"You mean your boyfriend doesn't objectify you and you find that . . . bad?" There was no confusion this time – only amusement.

He scowled. "Yes, I told you it was hopelessly shallow. I have no right to be obsessing about this when Blaine needs me to help deal with his father. _Why can't I stop thinking about this?_"

Carole was quiet for a few minutes, and while she thought, Kurt toyed with a few engine parts, picking up the tools his father had left for her use.

Finally, Carole reached for his hands, cradling them between her own, watching his face avidly. "Kurt, can I talk to you as mother to son?" she asked softly. "And can you promise to listen to me? Really listen?"

Kurt nodded, smiling back faintly.

Carole breathed in and out before speaking. "You are _gorgeous_. No, no, I'm serious, stop shaking your head. You have miles and miles of pale skin with barely a zit or scar to be seen. You're tall and slender, your muscles have started to really define your shape in a _good_ way, your jaw line is killer, and you always look like you've just stepped off a runway. And don't _even_ get me started on your eyes."

Kurt was flushing, feeling himself turn redder and redder as these praises rained down on him.

Carole squeezed his fingers. "Now, I'm not saying this to sound like a creepy Mrs. Robinson, I'm saying this as a parent – we may have blinders on where our kids are concerned, but we can be objective and honest if that's what they need from us. And I'm saying this with all the honesty in the world – you're a damn fine catch for any boy. And Blaine knows it too – I see it every time he looks at you. He gets this little . . . awestruck look on his face, as if he can't believe his luck."

"Who says that has anything to do with how I look though?" Kurt was instantly horrified with how whiny and needy he sounded. He made a face as Carole laughed.

"Oh, honey, the number of times Blaine has checked you out . . . your boyfriend is a gentleman, and he does his best, but he's still a teenaged boy with a great looking boyfriend. The couple of times he's been over for dinner? I've had to distract your father here and there, because Blaine has a problem with keeping his eyes off your . . . _you_, whenever you have your back to him. And the way he looks at your lips . . . I'm really glad your dad gave you 'the talk', let's just say that."

Kurt moaned, "Oh God. Really?" But he couldn't stop the crackle of hope in his chest, spreading a comforting heat through his veins. Could it be?

"Yes." Carole grinned. "Kurt, you're beautiful, get used to it."

He couldn't quite bring himself to accept that, not when he thought about all the heaps of insults levelled at him throughout the years, or the fact that he'd never had anyone crush on him other than his best friend, and again that had been based more on his personality than anything else – Mercedes meant _sexy bitch_ as a term of affection, or at least that's what he'd always assumed . . . Point being, there was too much evidence against what Carole was saying. Then again, those girls at the mall . . .

"If that's the case, why hasn't . . ."

"Blaine is treating you with the respect that you deserve. If you need more . . . confirmation on how you look, why not just ask him next time he's over?"

He flinched. "I don't know if I could. And it isn't just hearing him say the words, because words are easy to say. You should hear him when he talks about Ewan's hands."

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe he's self-conscious?" Carole asked. "Do you go on rants about your favourite aspects of Blaine to him?"

Kurt blushed. "Not in so many words. I've told him how much I love his hair when it isn't soaked in twelve pounds of gel. I've told him about his eyes and how wonderfully green they look when he wears certain sweaters. And he says similar things to me, every once in a while . . . I told you this was stupid, Carole. My boyfriend cares about me. This shouldn't matter."

Carole was silent again, then, "You know, Kurt, another thing to think about it is the fact that you put on a great front. You're really good at being confident and owning every aspect of yourself – it could be that Blaine doesn't think you need any affirmations on his part – that you already feel great about yourself. The way you dress . . ."

"Is nothing other than fabulous," Kurt asserted, crossing his arms.

Carole nodded. "I know it's you, Kurt, to be as incredibly fashionable as you are, and I've already told you that you look fantastic. But sometimes I think you mean it as a challenge – to be outrageous in a world that already considers you outrageous just for being you. To force people to deal with things that otherwise make them uncomfortable. Or just to announce who you are, no verbal explanation necessary. God, you have no idea the conversations I've had with your father over some of the bondage gear in your wardrobe."

Kurt rather felt like dying at that comment – the leather belts and harnesses were things he picked up off of runway shows and the European fashion mags, without knowing their . . . less than wholesome connotations – not that that stopped him once he did. But he kept the horror at bay, ignoring the whole concept of his father and stepmother discussing bondage, for the sake of his sanity.

"So, in conclusion?"

Carole leaned in, pressing a kiss to Kurt's temple. "You are a lovely human being, inside and out, and your boyfriend appreciates both those aspects. If you need more than me telling you this, then _ask him_."

Kurt felt his lips twist. "Another awkward conversation, coming right up? Great, well. I'll just wait for things to cool down with Blaine's father and –"

"Or, you could just ask him tomorrow when comes over for dinner." Carole turned back to the engine, pursing her lips down at it. "Look, I know I'm the last person to be giving you fashion advice –"

"Don't say that – you've greatly improved, under my tutelage," Kurt said proudly.

"Thanks, hon. Then listen to this – when you change out of your uniform tomorrow, go for something a little more casual. Drop some of the armour."

"Okay, so are we talking fewer layers and maybe some less impressive labels? Or are you asking me to . . . show some skin?" Kurt asked curiously, trying to keep the waver out of his voice for the second question.

"It's not about showing skin." Carole tilted her head. "Just, ease up on the hairspray and go with whatever your version is of comfy jeans and a shirt. You'll see that you don't have to be dressed to the nines for Blaine to find you attractive."

Kurt felt his old and familiar doubts rising to counteract his hope, but he hadn't had any hope up until now, and so he did his best to hold on to it. "Thank you, Carole, for listening."

She snatched up one of his hands before he could leave. "Kurt, I know you talk to your dad about most things, which is wonderful. But I'm here for you too, if there's ever something like this or not, that you want to ask me about."

He smiled again and he felt a pang, his mind contemplating the odd and, quite frankly, dysfunctional relationship Blaine had with his parents. He flicked his gaze back over to the car he was supposed to be attempting to fix, before meeting eyes with his stepmother again. "I know. Thank you. Now, do you want my help with this?"

Carole resumed glaring at the engine. "No, no. You go deal with whatever you need to be doing." She gave Kurt a teasing smirk. "Honestly, there are _no_ losers in this bet."

Kurt's hands flew to his ears. "La lalalala! I'm so not listening!"

He darted away, hearing the muffled laughter through the fingers in his ears, and he reached the Trans Am without any more horrifying imagery permeating his conscious mind. He gathered his toolbox from where he'd abandoned it, and set to work. It was all too easy to lose himself in the disaster of an engine that was Mr. Calder's far, _far_ too old Trans Am, and it turned into something a challenge to himself to resolve its problems and get it road worthy.

Of course, that meant that he had been completely unaware of his father finally entering the workspace, and when looked up to see how Carole was fairing, he was treated to the sight of his parents making out like teenagers.

He let out a high-pitched squeak and immediately buried his head back into what he was doing, clanging a few things louder than he had to in order to break them up. His attempts were less than subtle, so all he got was laughter and then more outrageous kissing that he was mortified by. When they glanced smugly his way, he scowled. His dad made a silly face at him, and Carole buried her face in the man's shoulder, her own shaking with mirth. He rolled his eyes towards them and then turned his back before they could see his smile.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kurt tried not to obsess over everything Carole had told him, but that was easier said than done. He didn't see what she saw when he looked in the mirror. Again, while he could appreciate the specific aspects of himself that she mentioned, he simply did not see it meshing into an overall attractive whole, at least not compared to Blaine.

At school, he couldn't help watching Blaine whenever they were together, which wasn't out of the norm, but this time he was looking for these signs his stepmom had described, and he just wasn't seeing them. He dismissed any post-make out reactions as Blaine being high on hormones and arousal (and he'd come a long way to be able to think _that_ without blushing). He hadn't caught his boyfriend checking him out, or focusing on any particular feature. He always looked Kurt in the eye, so attentive and wonderful and _gorgeous_.

What was wrong with Kurt that he couldn't let this go?

"Does your dad know where you're having dinner today?" Kurt asked his cell phone tentatively. Blaine was following him in his own car as they drove, and they'd gotten into the habit of having their phones on speaker so they could chat as if they were next to each other on these drives, making the most of every minute. Yes, Kurt was just _that_ clingy. But in his defence, it had been _Blaine's_ idea.

"He's always known, though . . . yeah, I guess this is first time I'm coming over with him knowing what you and I are. But what is he going to say? 'Don't go over there because I don't want you kissing boys and further affirming your homosexuality'?" Blaine's bitterness came through loud and clear. "He didn't say anything one way or the other. My mom told me I could stay out as late as I wanted as long as I called and kept them updated. I get the feeling they've been arguing. So much for me keeping this between me and my dad."

"Blaine, there's no way that would have happened – you're part of _both_ their lives, and probably the most important thing to them. You're going to come up in daily conversation."

Blaine said nothing for a long time, and Kurt chewed on his lips, then forced himself to stop, because the last thing he wanted to do was mutilate them – they had become rather essential to him in the past almost-two months.

"So, what's on the menu for tonight?" Blaine asked cheerily, after ten minutes of quiet.

Kurt sucked in a breath, not commenting on the change of subject. "Some pot roast and veggies. I'm going to make my dad some mashed potatoes that he can actually eat. I think Carole baked you an apple pie."

"Really? Awesome." Blaine's enthusiasm seemed genuine.

"Yeah, just make sure you're prepared to do battle with Finn over it. It's his favourite kind of pie too."

"Pfft, Big Foot won't even see me coming."

They kept each other company until they were pulling into Kurt's driveway. Before he could even put a hand on his door handle, Blaine was whipping the door open, throwing his arms around Kurt, pressing kisses into his neck. "Hi," he breathed out against Kurt's ear.

Kurt hugged him, smothering a smile into Blaine's shoulder. They stood like that for an untold amount of time before pulling away in the same moment. Kurt slid out from his car, turning to grab his bag, while very aware of the fact that Blaine was still very, very close to him. His boyfriend gave him just enough space to manoeuvre out and away so he could slam the door shut, before pressing him against that same door, hugging him again.

Kurt didn't ask why or try to kiss Blaine. He just held him close, thrilling in another body, willing and loving, wrapped around his.

The sound of the front door swinging open made them both look up, though they hardly separated more than an inch. Finn was watching them through squinting eyes, as if he couldn't decide if he should be closing them or not. "Oh, cool, you're not . . . um, Burt was wondering if you were coming in some time before dinner?"

Kurt sighed. "Yes. We're heading in right now."

Blaine waved. "Hey Finn!"

"Hi Blaine – hey, did you know my mom made you an apple pie?"

"Kurt told me." Blaine was winking at Kurt, holding his hand as they walked towards the house. "He also said I might have some serious competition with you for it."

"No way, I'll totally let you have first dibs – after that though, every man for himself."

Blaine gave Finn a high-five as they passed each other, and as soon as they crossed the threshold, Kurt was instantly nervous. He'd picked out a specific outfit for tonight, and it was upstairs in his room right now, waiting. And the implication was that in wearing that outfit, there was going to be yet _another_ 'Conversation of Supreme Awkward.' Kurt swore to himself that after this, there would no more talks for at least a _month_. He would spend that time taking a vow of silence, broken only in case of emergency, or to moan out Blaine's name whenever he . . . and that was _not_ the type of thinking he needed to be doing right now.

"So, I'm going upstairs to change – hi dad, hi Carole!" Kurt called as he speedily walked past everyone.

He could hear his parents greeting Blaine, and his boyfriend falling into easy conversation with them. Kurt exhaled once he reached his room, shutting the door behind him. There on his bed were a pair of dark blue jeans, not nearly as tight as usual fare, but they hugged him in the right ways, he'd made sure. There was also a button up royal blue shirt, dark threading throughout that emphasized the slim lines of his body, with bright blue buttons. He was going to be bold and not wear an undershirt beneath it. And he was getting nervous again.

First, he had to hop into the shower for a couple of minutes, just enough to rinse the hairspray – he'd gone light with it today for this very reason.

Within fifteen minutes he was dressed. He couldn't bring himself to go barefoot, so grabbed a pair of thin white socks. His hair was held back with even less hairspray than he'd been using earlier, so a few unruly locks kept escaping, brushing his forehead, and Kurt kept trying to flick them away, but to no avail.

He stared at himself in the mirror, not quite understanding the purpose of this whole exercise, but there was no one down there other than his family, who couldn't care less what he wore, and his boyfriend, who liked everything else about Kurt, so . . .

He took one deep breath, and opened his door. Blaine stood poised to knock on the other side.

"Oh, hey, Burt sent me up here to . . . ah, bring you down for food." Blaine's pause in the middle of that sentence did not go unnoticed by Kurt, though he couldn't tell whether or not it was a positive reaction.

Kurt couldn't resist glancing down at himself, making sure there wasn't anything out of place, and then turning to glance at a small mirror to check out . . . and there, he caught Blaine's eyes sliding down – but no, it was over too quickly, because he couldn't help whipping back, trying to catch him in the act. Blaine's eyes were back on his face, his smile easy-going. "This is . . . different."

Kurt restrained giving himself a second once-over. "It's a defence mechanism – you see, I have a feeling that your battle with Finn over the pie may involve mess, and the last thing I want is my clothes to become casualties of war."

Blaine shook his head, stepping back to let Kurt exit his room. "I promise it won't be like that time we were doing the dishes."

"You better believe it won't." Kurt raised both his eyebrows. "Do you know what happens when silk gets wet, Blaine? Bad things. Things that had me re-evaluating my choice in boyfriend."

Blaine gave him puppy-eyes and Kurt pushed him out of his way, rolling his own. Then, on impulse, he leaned back in, murmuring hoarsely within a hair's breadth of Blaine's ear, "Let's go before my dad comes up here to make sure you're not wantonly defiling me." He turned away as soon as the last word fell from his lips.

Blaine choked, coughing a little. Kurt smirked evilly as he went down the stairs, hearing Blaine's hurried steps after a few seconds delay.

Carole swept him up into a hug as he reached the bottom, and then took in his outfit with an approving glance. "Very nice. And I believe Blaine thinks so too . . ."

Blaine hit the bottom not a second later, and Carole winked at Kurt. He smiled back, but honestly, he _still_ wasn't seeing it.

Dinner passed quickly, conversations floating and winding around in circles – Finn and Blaine would discuss sports with Kurt's dad, while Carole and Kurt talked TV shows, and Blaine would jump in when they touched on a subject he happened to like, and then things would switch over to music and glee club, then the shop, cars and back again to sports. Kurt watched with high levels of amusement as Blaine and Finn got tenser and tenser as dessert approached.

There was minimal bloodshed, but Kurt ducked out of the kitchen once everyone had had their first serving – because it was after the first slice that things would get nasty, he knew. A spoonful of ice cream had landed next to Kurt's sleeve on the table, too close for comfort, which he took as his cue to abandon ship.

Finn ended up winning the last slice of apple pie due to some complex move that Blaine had been trying to explain to Kurt as they headed upstairs, but Kurt was silently obsessing and considering his outfit a failure since he'd seen_ none_ of the reactions Carole claimed to be commonplace.

He threw himself onto the bed, more strands of hair coming loose to brush his forehead and eyebrows. He huffed in annoyance, flipping onto his back and reaching up to push them away, but Blaine beat him to it. He pushed up and his fingers tangled in Kurt's hair briefly before he pulled his hand out, apologizing sheepishly. "Sorry. Just . . . I've been wanting to do that all night."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Blaine nodded, blushing slightly. "You . . . I've been . . . um, do you wanna watch a movie?"

Kurt had been holding his breath for the duration of the halting statement, and he wasn't about to let this opportunity slip by. "No, wait, what were you going to say?"

Blaine shrugged. "Nothing important, I swear. Just that you look . . . really, really good, right now. But that's not news to you."

Kurt knew how sad this was going to sound, but he said it just the same. "Actually it is. News to me, that is."

Blaine cocked his head, looking puzzled. "What?"

Kurt braced himself and kicked off his 'Conversation of Supreme Awkward.' "I know I'm fabulous, Blaine – there are few in this world with such a keen eye for fashion but . . . I know that I'm not necessarily the typical definition of attractive, if I am that at all." He paused there, reviewing his words, not entirely sure if his meaning was getting across.

Blaine was staring at him, surprised and confused. "What brought this on? Did I say or do something to get you thinking like this? Because –"

"You've been wonderful, Blaine, I'm just being an idiot." Kurt saw that Blaine was truly lost, and he was feeling more and more stupid about bringing this up out loud. He was done – he'd basically been overdosing on awkward in recent days, so he felt justified in abandoning this effort. "Forget I said anything."

Blaine mouthed silently for a moment. Then he inhaled, gazing at Kurt with varying degrees of concern. "Kurt, you would so not let me get away with that, so let me do you the same courtesy. Are you telling me that you think that you're not . . . hot?"

Kurt made a noise, something between a squeak and a moan. "I . . . yes, okay? It's like you're a ten, and I'm something of a four or five. Maybe a six if we weigh in certain outfits and hairstyles. But either way, the gap between our looks is . . . noticeable. Remember? I'm the baby penguin of the relationship."

Blaine buried his face in hands. "Oh, wow. I really hate myself for that whole stupid . . . Kurt, listen, you are, hands down, _the_ most incredible person I know. I'm pretty sure I've told you that an embarrassing amount of times. But in case it's somehow slipped your notice, which it looks like it has, you are also one the most _attractive_ guys I know."

"Even hotter than Ewan McGregor?" Kurt asked and then immediately shut his eyes, covering them with his hands. "Oh God, _now_ I hate myself."

Blaine was peeling his hands from his face, and when no words were forthcoming after a few lengthy minutes, Kurt opened his eyes reluctantly. Blaine was staring at him, the barest edges of surprise still lining his expression, but there was an affectionate grin on his face too. "Are you kidding? I don't know if you recall a certain conversation we had earlier this week, but there are times when I _physically_ can _not_ control myself around you."

Kurt pulled his hands out of Blaine's grasp, crossing his arms and huddling in on himself. "I did say that this was idiotic, didn't I? But I can't help what I feel, Blaine, and what I feel is . . . inadequate."

Blaine shook his head, disbelieving. "Kurt, you're talking to the guy who serenaded you with 'put your hands on me in my skin-tight jeans' – how in the hell could you think I _didn't_ find you hot?"

"You . . . that performance was planned before you even met me. And you said that you didn't realize you liked me until _Blackbird_."

"That has nothing to do with finding you attractive! I suppose the fact that I was staring straight into your _beautiful_ eyes totally went straight over your head, right?" Blaine was sliding in closer, watching him intently.

Kurt threw his hands up in the air. "You could've just been taking pity on the sad and pathetic spy that I was! Blaine, honestly, the thought never crossed my mind that you were really interested in me . . . okay, maybe it did, more than once, but I've learned to dismiss such thoughts as foolish flights of fancy, no matter how often they take me over."

Blaine sighed, rubbing at his temples, looking frustrated and wracked with disbelief. Kurt could see it clearly, but he didn't know what to say, and it seemed that Blaine didn't either. Blaine finally pushed out a long, loud breath, staring up at Kurt with a half-smile. He slid himself past Kurt, sitting up against the headboard, and opening his arms. Kurt fell into that embrace easily; he put his head on Blaine's chest, inhaling deeply of his scent and listening to that steady heartbeat.

He kept one eye on his partially open door, but eventually his lids started drooping and Blaine's breathing was soft, regular and maybe he was drifting, or had drifted, off too?

Blaine put an end to it after an indeterminate amount of time, speaking into Kurt's hair. "Hey, hey, sit up a minute, I want to tell you something."

Kurt was naturally very opposed to this, because it seemed obvious to him that Blaine wanted to continue their Conversation of Supreme Awkward. And Kurt just wasn't in the mood for that in anymore, if he ever had been – which he hadn't.

But Blaine was squeezing his shoulder and sitting up himself, forcing Kurt to comply. Once he was out of the circle of Blaine's arms, he leaned back against the headboard and pointedly refused to make eye contact. He could feel Blaine's searching gaze though, and it was silently demanding that he look up. When Kurt didn't, Blaine inhaled deeply and started talking.

"Do you know that I didn't really know how to kiss until you? You've pretty much been my teacher, Kurt."

_That_ had Kurt whipping his head up in shock before he could stop himself. "What are you saying? I'm definitely no teacher on that subject. I'm even less experienced than you."

"Trust me when I tell you that you have a knack, and I've been doing my best to imitate almost everything you do because . . . you're _magical_ at it." Blaine was blushing and grinning self-consciously. "And you do this thing when you're in the zone – you pull away and look up at me through your eyelashes." His boyfriend's own eyelashes fluttered slightly. "It's just . . . so wow. And then your voice when you whisper in my ear, and all the tiny things you do with your body, making it so, so good, _too_ good at times." Blaine's voice sounded . . . needy, in an alluring way, and it was making Kurt blush in a horrendous, burning fashion – he could feel it scorching down his neck. "Kurt, I'm sorry for ever saying that you aren't sexy. Because you so, so are. Especially when you just let go and get out of your own way. Because when you're not thinking about it? _Holy crap_, it's insane. Baby penguins are the last thing on my mind, I promise you."

"No offense, Blaine." Kurt's own voice was a bit of a croak, because Blaine's eyes had darkened throughout that speech, and he was eying Kurt's lips with increasing interest. "But with teenaged boys – and I suppose I must include myself in this – any degree of action, good or bad, is enough to prompt a physical response."

"Oh, it's _good_ action, all right," he said with a leer, but Kurt only pushed him playfully, trying, with no success, to keep the redness from reaching his ears. "But it's not just physical." Blaine stubbornly persisted. "I see you walking down the halls, and I get _distracted_. You tilt your head a certain way, or lean against a doorway, or, I don't know, _breathe,_ and all my mind can think is – _no way, is that one mine?_ It's not all about libido."

Kurt was loving these words, but his idiotic insecurities were old and set in their ways. He couldn't help how his head shook in denial or how he looked away from Blaine's earnest (and tinged with arousal) gaze.

"Okay, fine. Don't believe me. But when I was watching that video of you, seeing that incredible solo for the Cheerios? It wasn't out of pure appreciation for your talent. Do you have any idea the figure you cut in that uniform? And singing in _French_, holy . . . those high kicks were . . . and . . ." Blaine actually flailed hopelessly as his words failed him, and Kurt could feel his own expression of incredulity stealing across his face as his boyfriend degenerated into incoherency.

It was kind of nice.

"I've looked up videos of you too. Mind you, it was, in large part, to bask in your singing . . . and to laugh at your oh-so-charming show-faces –"

Blaine shoved him and Kurt let out a brief burst of laughter before forcing himself to bite the bullet and truly study Blaine as his boyfriend studied him in return. His eyes kept darting down to Kurt's chest, with a slight detour back up to his lips, and even to his legs. There was a moment when Kurt though he might even be zeroing in on his neck . . . And Kurt reached up, rubbing at that area as if he was still embarrassed (not much of a stretch, really), and then let his hand trail down, undoing one button of his shirt. Blaine followed every motion, lips parting when Kurt reached into the shirt to scratch at his collarbone.

_There!_ It was _the_ expression he'd worn when talking about Ewan McGregor's fingers!

"I'm sorry, what?" Blaine's eyes jerked back up, and he both looked and sounded like he was holding back laughter. "What was that about Ewan? Why does he keep coming up in this conversation?"

_Crap_. Kurt threw himself back against his pillows. "Nothing about Ewan. I'm just . . . you really think that I'm . . . sexy?"

Blaine replied immediately. "Yes. Yes. You're not only sexy, but also drop-dead gorgeous. Sometimes I'm so distracted by you, that I'm not really listening to what you tell me – and I swear, I'm usually really good at paying attention to you and –"

Kurt's uncertainties were cringing and falling back against Blaine's tide of babbling and that sincere expression that was edged with desperation in trying to make Kurt believe him. He felt a small smile dawning, growing wider and brighter. He couldn't believe he was getting this happy at hearing that his boyfriend occasionally tuned him out in order to _check him out_. Someone wanted to check him out. As in, just _look_ at him. Because they _liked_ what they saw.

He worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, because he still felt that dark, nagging cynicism clinging and clawing at him, telling him that Blaine was only saying these things because he was such an amazing person and he would never let Kurt feel down on himself if he could help it. One conversation wasn't going to permanently eradicate years of self-doubt . . . But Blaine was watching him so intensely and . . .

"Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to keep my hands off you during dinner?" And Kurt tuned back in for that, because it was definitely worth hearing.

He bit his lip again, sliding his teeth along it. "Really?"

Blaine groaned. "I think your dad might have picked up on it, because, I mean, you were getting up to bring the jug of juice to the table and I couldn't help watching you walk away, and, you know, my eyes might have wandered into less than . . ."

"If my dad had caught you in the act, don't you think he would've been coming up here to check on us every five seconds?" His father had been very good, very patient with Kurt and Blaine, giving them space and alone time. But sometimes, when they were all together and Blaine was being affectionate, Kurt saw his dad's eyes narrow – it was the 'someone is touching my boy' expression, that both frustrated and amused him, making Kurt feel very much loved and protected, when it wasn't scaring Blaine into submission.

"Unless your stepmom is keeping him busy. She kept . . . smiling at me during dinner. It wasn't her usual way of . . . Wow, I think she caught me too. Oh God, your entire family must think I'm some sort of lecher –"

Kurt cracked up, because the panic on Blaine's face was too much for him. He threw his head back, unashamedly mocking his boyfriend – it looked like Carole's observations had been right, though he wasn't convinced about the whole casual clothes thing. Blaine was blushing and glaring, and it only made Kurt laugh harder.

Of course, Blaine then sought to shut him up the in the best way possible. So Kurt stopped, out of the goodness of his heart. It had absolutely nothing to do with the way Blaine had quickly enticed his mouth open, the way his tongue . . . but then Kurt was actually giggling into their kiss, because those were totally _his_ moves that Blaine was using. His boyfriend pulled back, looking affronted. "I'm sorry, but what's so funny?"

Kurt only smiled up at him innocently. "Nothing. I'm just ridiculously happy with my boyfriend. He's not only charming, sweet, and handsome, but an awesome kisser besides."

Blaine preened a bit, and Kurt chewed on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing _again_. He stretched himself out in order to be more comfortable, hands coming up to stroke Blaine's sides over his shirt. Blaine's happy smile morphed into something darker, into a smirk of a distinctly sexy nature. Kurt swallowed drily. Blaine had been kneeling next to Kurt, bent in half as he'd kissed him, but now he mirrored Kurt's position, stretched out next to him, and bent his head . . . and this was _not_ something Kurt had 'taught' him, _no, it wasn't. But yes. Yes, yes._

Blaine traced Kurt's exposed collar bone lightly with his lips, then with increasing pressure; Kurt's head fell back, digging into his pillows as Blaine licked and sucked and he was so going to leave a mark, a hickey, but Kurt really didn't care. It was low enough that he could easily cover it up, though he might not be able to help touching it, rubbing at it in reminder of his moment.

"Hey, Blaine, Kurt! Burt wants to know if you guys want to come play Monopoly with us!" Finn was calling, his loud steps quickly approaching Kurt's door.

Blaine was not moving with any urgency though, leaning up to press a messy kiss to Kurt's lips before pulling away at length, smirking proudly. Kurt knew that his mouth was open, and he probably looked shell-shocked, but his hand came up to rub where Blaine's mouth had been spending it's past few minutes, sending a tingling thrill through him. He grinned at his boyfriend and stole a deep kiss of his own, leaning back just as Finn stuck his head in the doorway.

"Oh, hey, um, sorry." Finn looked like he was going to duck out again, but Kurt stopped him before could.

"No, on, it's fine, Finn. Tell them we'll be down in a second."

"Cool." Finn wasn't quite meeting his eyes. "You might want to . . . fix your shirt, then." And he suddenly stared at Kurt directly, smirking and _winking_.

Kurt glanced down, blinking rapidly. Another button had come undone and it was distinctly rumpled. Blaine sighed contentedly. "I have to be honest with you, Kurt – I really want to take a picture of you right now."

Kurt was frowning down at his dishevelled state. "You have approximately sixty seconds before I change my mind."

Blaine's jaw dropped and he was digging into his pocket for his phone in an absurdly eager manner. Kurt was regretting his decision within ten seconds, as Blaine snapped picture after picture. "Okay, enough, now. Thank you. I trust those photos will never see the light of day?"

Blaine grinned, standing up and shoving his phone back into his pocket. "I will download them onto my laptop and delete them off my phone. Then I'll encrypt the file if that makes you feel better."

Kurt was sliding off the bed, walking over to his vanity. "It will. Do it for your sake though, not mine. If I ever see those pictures _anywhere_ else, I will personally ensure that your hair never meets gel ever again in your lifetime."

Blaine lifted a hand to his heart, staggering backwards. "That is a serious threat indeed, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt gave him an unimpressed look in the reflection of his mirror, doing his best to fix himself to appear as presentable as possible. He indulged in more hairspray, something that had Blaine pouting. Kurt pointed at him without turning around. "You could bounce nickels off that hair helmet of yours so don't you dare judge me."

Blaine yanked the hairspray can out of Kurt's other hand. "C'mon, it's just us, and I want to get my Monopoly on."

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "Just as long as you keep yourself away from Park Place and Boardwalk. And the thimble is _mine_."

"Try and stop me," Blaine teased as he took off running. Kurt sighed at the immaturity of it all . . . before chasing Blaine down the stairs, demanding that his father save the thimble as he skipped the last few steps in a huge leap, catching up to Blaine. The board was already set up and Carole was counting out the money. Finn was playing with the car piece, his father was the shoe, as always, and Blaine had claimed the top hat.

It was Carole who stole Park Place out from under Kurt's grasp, and Blaine laughed hysterically at his horrified expression when Finn claimed Boardwalk. In the end, his dad who won the whole thing with Railroads and Utilities, and Kurt would have been angrier but he'd been amusing himself with his vengeance for Blaine's teasing by brushing his hand along Blaine's thigh or rubbing at his collarbone when he knew his boyfriend was watching . . . Which meant that Blaine was _distracted_ enough to have been making some rather poor decisions and coming in last, which was almost as good as winning in Kurt's opinion.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Blaine had left at nearly two in the morning under Kurt's father insistence that any later and Blaine would have to stay over (the way he said this implied that it wasn't an option for that night, though he did clap a reassuring hand on Blaine's shoulder before he left, telling him that he was always welcome – the sincere warmth in his voice had Kurt blinking back tears for reasons he couldn't explain). Kurt made Blaine keep his phone on speaker so he could talk to him, keeping him wide awake for the ride home. It was plain that the closer Blaine got, the tenser and less cheerful he became, but there was nothing Kurt could do about that other than be there, on the phone. He suggested that if Blaine needed to, he could always sneak away to the bathroom and call Kurt during the dinner party, even if it was just to talk about pointless things completely unrelated to what was happening.

This meant that Kurt was about a hundred times more aware of his phone than he normally was, all throughout that Saturday. He talked to Mercedes on the houseline as he did the laundry, folding and sorting. He made sure to put his ringing volume on the highest it could go as he listened to music with her, and sang along, trying to calm his nerves.

But the entire day passed without a single phone call, and it was only around six or so that he got a text, which read simply: _Heading out now. I miss you._

And then nothing.

Spending the entire day and evening stressing about it had really worn him out (along with the fact he'd been up at seven after going to bed at three-thirty am). He ended up saying good night to his family about halfway through _Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade_, yawning and glancing at his phone as he got ready for bed, tossing his cell onto the pillow next to the one he buried his head in.

He had no clue what time he fell asleep, but it had been rather early when he first went upstairs. That didn't make it any less jarring when his phone shrieked to life, less than a foot from his ear. He reached for it instantly, knocking it into his tangle of blankets, and he was groggy enough not to register the ringtone as dug around for it, answering and murmuring a raspy, "Hello?" while rubbing at his eyes.

"Kurt?" It was hesitant and quietly said, but Kurt knew that voice as well as he knew his own.

Kurt sat bolt upright in bed, adrenaline pumping and doing a good job of waking him up in leaps and bounds. "Blaine?"

"Kurt, I know you're probably in your pyjamas and stuff . . ." Blaine trailed off and Kurt couldn't get over how _young_ he suddenly sounded. His next words had his heart skipping a beat; they were broken, tired, choked out. "But . . . do you think you could come get me?"

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **It took me forever to proofread this, I'm sorry! And well, yeah, sorry for the cliffhanger too ;) (Just a random mention – last night's episode was only so-so for me, though YAY for the end of hiatus. I've heard tell that next week is supposed to be big – I haven't seen the preview though, so no details, please :D)

Love to all you for your support, but a particular shout-out to **digiMist **who pointed out a couple things that needed tweaking in the last chapter! Thank you again! Comments are very much loved and appreciated, and while I would love to hear from all of you, a big thank you for all your favourites/alerts too!


	7. Chapter 7

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 7**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

"_Kurt, I know you're probably in your pyjamas and stuff . . . But . . . do you think you could come get me?"_

"Just tell me where you are," Kurt said without hesitation, glancing at his clock. It was only a few minutes past eleven. He stripped off his cotton pyjama bottoms, flicking on his bedside lamp. He threw his closet open, grabbing the first pair of pants his hands touched.

"I . . . I'm not too far from my house, actually – just a few streets over, in a park." He gave Kurt a few directions, while Kurt was yanking on socks, and then shoes, all one-handed. Then he was pulling a random jacket, not even taking a second to look in the mirror to see if it was all coordinated.

"Blaine, do you want me to stay on the line with you?"

There was a long pause during which all Kurt could hear was light breathing. A minute passed, followed by a soft, "No."

Kurt bit his lip as he left his room. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." That came out stronger. "Yes. I'm sorry. I . . . I don't want to go home tonight. Please, Kurt."

"I'm on my way – give me about forty-five minutes or so to get there though." _If I speed, which I will._ "Are you okay? Are you hurt, or cold . . ."

"No, no, I'm fine, just sitting on the jungle gym . . . don't hurry, Kurt, I don't want you to get into an accident."

_All right, so maybe I'll keep it to ten miles above the limit as opposed to the twenty I was planning. _"Hold on, I'm on my way."

"Okay . . . thank you." It was so grateful, but so wearily said. Kurt felt his car keys digging painfully into his palm as he walked down the stairs, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

"Blaine, don't even. You'd do . . . you _have _done the same for me."

"I'll see you soon, Kurt." And he hung up.

Kurt had to take a second to swallow, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. He shoved his phone into a pocket, running down the last few steps.

"Whoa, hey, where the hell are you goin'?"

Kurt froze, looking over to his right, seeing his father standing up from the couch, Carole turning to face him while staying seated. Another movie was playing on the TV screen but Kurt couldn't be bothered to figure out which. Both of his parents looked confused and a little alarmed, but it was his father who was coming to stand between Kurt and door, putting a staying hand on his shoulder. "Kurt? What's wrong?"

He quickly realized there was no way he was going to be able to get out that front door without telling them, so he explained rapidly in one breath, "Blaine called me just now, he wants me to pick him up – something went wrong tonight and he's not going home."

Carole was now standing too, a hand partially covering her mouth. "Is he okay? Kurt –"

"He said he was fine," Kurt rushed on. "But he's all by himself in a park, and it's the middle of the night. Please, let me go get him."

His father was flicking his gaze over to Carole, holding for a moment, then sliding back to Kurt. "You being honest with me, Kurt? Because if Blaine is in some serious trouble –"

"Dad, it's me. Please, you know I would never lie about something this important, _please._"

There was a long silence that was utter agony for Kurt (the adrenaline was wreaking havoc on his system, and he was consumed by the need to just _**go**_). His dad crossed his arms, staring at Kurt with an indefinable expression. "Do you need me to come with you?"

Kurt almost fell over at the question, as if he'd been struggling forwards against a barrier or grip that was quite suddenly gone. Was he actually being allowed to leave? On his own? He didn't really care one way or the other as long as Blaine was safe, with him, but maybe . . . maybe . . . Half-formed thoughts and impulses chased themselves into a whirlwind in his mind, and he went with the first instinct that claimed his mouth. "No. No, dad, I'll go alone."

"Then you have to call me, every step of the way. As soon as you get there, you let me know. As soon as you're leaving, you call me. Do not hang around any longer than you have to. You get Blaine here. I'll be waiting."

Carole approached Kurt, touching his arm above the elbow. "_We'll _be here."

Kurt may or may not have breathed out a 'thank you', but if he did, they probably didn't hear it as he was already running past them, throwing the door open and sprinting to the SUV.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kurt called Blaine as soon as he was within ten minutes of him, making sure he had the directions right. Blaine reiterated them in a monotone before saying, "See you when you get here," and hanging up.

Kurt pressed his accelerator hard enough to give his stomach a brutal jump, only to be thwarted by a red light not two seconds later. He cursed loudly, his phone clattering from the seat next to him to the floor, but he wasn't about to reach for it now – as soon as the light turned green he took off like a shot.

Five minutes later he was at the park.

He pulled over, wheels bumping the curb, unlocking the SUV doors before he'd even come to a full stop. He reached for his phone, hitting the speed-dial for his house as he drew up, exiting in a quick series of motions, nearly falling out of the car. "Dad, I'm here, I'm looking for Blaine now." He slammed the car door shut, walking at first but soon picking up speed, locking his SUV over his shoulder with a push of a button. "I can see the swings – the slide – I see him! He's still on the jungle gym."

"Then get him and come home." It was said sternly, and Kurt nodded.

"I'll call you when we're on the road." The phone was pushed down into his pocket as he ran at a breakneck pace the rest of the way. The grass was damp and slippery beneath his shoes (was he wearing loafers?) and the smell was verging on overpowering as he inhaled to maintain his powerful strides.

Blaine had his head down, sitting on the top of a vaguely elephant shaped set of iron bars of a faded colour Kurt could hardly determine in the weak moonlight. Kurt was gasping, though not because he was tired – at least not entirely – when he reached Blaine, desperate to know, to _see_ that he was all right. Blaine's feet were level with Kurt's chest, and he stared up at his boyfriend, frantically absorbing everything about him – the now wrinkled and slightly rust-stained slacks, the partially unbuttoned collared shirt, and the shiny black shoes that had blades of grass clinging to them. There was no jacket, though Kurt knew his outfit must have had one, or a tie. His hair wasn't glued down by pounds gel – or if it had been, Blaine had made a mess of it by running his hands through it.

Blaine was not looking at him. Or at anything really. His face was a very odd thing to behold – it was wavering between blankness and weariness and pain.

Kurt managed to get his breathing under control after a few seconds. "Blaine. Blaine, I'm here."

Blaine's eyes focused on him. In the dim silver light Kurt thought he could see dried tear tracks, but he wasn't sure. He needed to be closer and that he _was _sure of. He wrapped his hands around the iron bars, feeling paint crack and flake off beneath his grip, clinging to his sweaty palms. He pulled himself up, climbing until he was seated next to Blaine.

"Blaine, I need you to talk to me. Because my dad is waiting back home, and we need to get there before he sends the army after us."

Blaine finally spoke. "He knows?"

"He knows about as much as I do, which is next to nothing," Kurt explained in what he hoped was a soft and comforting tone. "He and Carole were still up, and I had to tell them or there wasn't any way I would've been allowed to leave the house."

Blaine nodded, though his grip on the bars tightened. Kurt took a chance, wiping paint chips off on his thigh and then covering that hand nearest to him with his own, overlapping their fingers. Blaine exhaled, seeming to deflate, and his free hand came up to cover his eyes. "God, I'm sorry, Kurt. This isn't, this isn't as bad as you think it is, I . . . just couldn't be around him, couldn't be in the same _neighbourhood _as him. Not tonight. I needed you so badly."

"And I'm here, and I – I care about you, and I want you home with me. We'll get you into some pyjamas, we'll feed you apple pie – but before that . . . do you want to tell me some of what happened?"

He waited with bated breath, but Blaine only shook his head, his shoulders hunching. "Your dad is probably going to want an explanation. And I . . . I don't want to tell this story twice. Actually, I don't want to tell it all."

"You don't have to – no one says you have to," Kurt hurried to say though it killed him to do so – he _needed _to know. "My dad never said anything about explanations – just getting you home, safe and sound."

Blaine choked out a laugh. "Yeah, your dad is awesome that way . . . but he deserves an explanation as to why I dragged his son out of his house in the middle of the night and I need . . . I need someone like . . . just someone to tell me that I'm not . . ." Blaine's voice was fading and thickening all at once, and he shrunk in further on himself, his frame trembling. Kurt had to force away his desperate need to understand, swallow the lump in his throat and ignore the way his heart was breaking for this boy in front of him. He lifted his hand off of Blaine's, reaching up to caress his cheek lightly. His fingers encountered wetness, but he just kept stroking, and Blaine kept shaking.

Once Blaine stopped silently crying, he sat up, looking over at Kurt, a wisp of a smile gone in a blink as he said, "Let's go."

Blaine leapt from the top, but Kurt climbed down because he did not trust his shaky legs with the landing. His feet had barely a second to get reacquainted with the ground before Blaine was sweeping him up in a crushing embrace, damp face buried where Kurt's shoulder and neck met. He stroked the messy tangle of Blaine's curls (there was still some gel containing them, but not enough), wrapping his other arm around his back tightly. "Hey, hey, it's okay. It'll be fine." And he had no idea if what he was saying was true, could be true, because he had no idea what had happened, but _damn it_, he would _make _it fine, no matter what it was.

He let Blaine be the one to pull away first, though he took the lead afterwards, grasping a hand in a firm grip and guiding Blaine back to his car. This time around the wet grass was soaking through his shoes, but he didn't quicken his pace. Blaine was walking rather slowly and Kurt wasn't going to pull him along any faster than he apparently wanted to go.

Once they reached the SUV, Kurt unlocked it and slid his phone out of his pants' pocket, speed-dialling again. It didn't even ring once.

"God, Kurt, I was just about to call you."

"We're fine, we're both fine. I'm starting the engine now, dad." He did just that once he was settled in his seat. "We're on our way back."

"Good. Be careful, and see you soon. Oh, you might wanna warn Blaine that Finn's up. Does he want us to send him back upstairs or something?"

Kurt was pulling away from the curb, glancing at Blaine. He was staring listlessly out the window, then down at his lap. "Blaine? Finn's kinda waiting up with my parents – is that . . . does that bother you?"

Blaine shrugged, and Kurt had never seen him so spiritless, so lacking in energy. "I guess he'll hear about it regardless, right?"

"Not if you don't want him to, Blaine. Remember, no one, including me, needs to know if you don't want to share."

A period of silence followed this statement and Kurt drove at a much more leisurely pace than he had on his way to the park, stopping at yellow lights and taking a full minute at stop signs.

"Can it just be your dad? And your step-mom? I don't feel like having much more of an audience. You can tell him later, if you want."

Kurt nodded. "You hear that dad?"

"Loud and clear. We'll tell Finn he can get the story out of you tomorrow."

"All right, give me another forty minutes or so to get home."

"Drive safe, kiddo."

Kurt hung up, tossing the phone onto his dashboard. Blaine was silent again and Kurt didn't dare push. He'd get the full story in less than an hour's time. While he waited he stretched a hand out and Blaine took it, intertwining their fingers. He drove like that the rest of the way home.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

As he pulled up onto his driveway, Kurt could see his father waiting on the front porch – and in that same moment, he heard Blaine suck in a quick breath, then release it slowly, as if steadying his nerves. Kurt squeezed the fingers of the hand he'd been holding the entire ride, and opened the car door after a few seconds of silent support.

He walked around the front of his SUV, meeting up with Blaine on the other side and they walked up together to meet his dad, who had been watching them closely, rocking back on his heels once.

There wasn't any hesitation or words exchanged as his father stepped back from the open door, giving them room to walk into the house. Carole was right there to greet them, though she was hesitating, taking a half step forward, then holding back. Kurt took off his jacket, glancing down at it for the first time – it was one of his thick leather ones. He dimly acknowledged the fact that it didn't, in actuality, match with his black loafers. Carole spoke at last as Kurt hung it up on the coat rack near the door. "Oh, Blaine, you look so tired. Do you want something to eat? Drink?"

Blaine shook his head, clearing his throat before answering, "No, no thanks . . ." He flinched when Kurt's dad shut the door behind him. "I-I'm mostly just really, really tired."

"Then we can set up a bed for you right away," Carole offered, holding out a hand, smiling gently. "But that would be kind of a shame considering that I baked another apple pie earlier today and Finn actually left behind a couple of pieces for myself, though I'm sure Burt was going to sneak the other one away. One of those pieces is yours if you want it – and considering the fish-eye Kurt is currently giving his father, I would suggest eating it to prevent the poor man from getting yet another well-deserved lecture."

Kurt hadn't even realized he'd been staring at his father severely until Carole said as much, and his dad was cringing, looking over at his wife pitifully. "I can't believe you just sold me out."

"Dad! You were actually going to eat it!" Kurt instantly reprimanded, crossing his arms and glaring.

Carole sighed. "They're going to be at this for at least ten minutes, plenty of time for us two to indulge!"

Kurt was about to rip into his father when he saw the look on Blaine's face. He felt a surge of love and affection for his stepmother as Blaine cracked a _real _smile. She led him to the kitchen, asking him to get the plates and glasses. Kurt was turning to let his dad off easy with a simple, succinct three minute scolding, with no guilt-trip or threat to call his doctor, but his speech was lost as he saw Blaine watching them both with a heart-wrenching sadness. When he did finally face him, his dad was mid-way to taking hold of his arm, murmuring, "Kurt, now isn't the time to –"

"Yes, I know, Blaine needs me, needs all of us, and . . ." He shrugged, his father's hand dropping at the motion, smiling. "I know by this point most of my lectures are moot. A little contraband here and there isn't going to do you any great harm. So long as you keep it to _here and there _and not _here, there and everywhere. _Please refer to previous lectures on me wanting my father around for all future major milestones and we're officially good on this topic."

His dad laughed near-silently, smiling down at the floor before glancing back up at Kurt. "Yeah, okay, kiddo. Thanks. Now, about Blaine – he didn't say anything to you on the drive over?"

"Not a word." Kurt shook his head, hearing the faint sounds of Carole chatting with Blaine, though it seemed she was the one carrying the entire conversation. "He's, well, you saw."

His dad nodded, rubbing a hand over his bald head, then wrapping an arm around Kurt's shoulders as they walked towards the dining room. He didn't say anything else as they entered; Carole was sitting across from Blaine, watching him eat without touching her own slice or her glass of water, and Blaine was cutting his pie slice into small pieces, slowly and methodically. Kurt looked towards Carole and she tilted her head, indicating the seat next to Blaine while asking. "You want to share mine with me, Kurt?"

"You made me have some after dinner," Kurt reminded her. "And while my stomach and taste buds thank you, I'm sure my hips are going to pay me back for this if I give in again."

She rolled her eyes at him, but it was an expression of fond exasperation. Blaine lifted his eyes towards Kurt, frowning. "You shouldn't take anything that crazy woman said to you seriously. You're perfect." Kurt felt his heart flutter at that, and while Blaine was often responsible for such lovely (and yes, sometimes cheesy) compliments, the way his eyes kept falling away from Kurt prevented him from being able to truly bask and enjoy it. Blaine was back to being quiet and staring unseeingly at his plate of tiny apple pie pieces.

He sat down next to him, at an angle that permitted him a head-on view of Blaine's lacklustre expression. The silence was approaching unbearable levels of tension.

Thankfully, his dad tackled it with his usual straight-forwardness. "Blaine, I get that some serious things went down tonight, and from what Kurt told me, you want to tell us what those things were. Or did you want to save that for tomorrow?"

Blaine lifted a bite of apple pie to his mouth, chewed and swallowed before responding, "I . . . I'm sorry for intruding upon your hospitality like this. For making Kurt come and get me and . . ."

"Blaine, I'm just glad you look like you're okay." Kurt leaned a little closer to Blaine as his father said this because that sharp edge of panic when Blaine first called, he wouldn't be shaking that off any time soon. His dad continued, "But I gotta say I ain't one hundred percent sure on how okay you are. Did . . . did your dad do something tonight?"

That startled a brutally humourless laugh out of the boy. Kurt flinched because he remembered that harsh sound from the first time he had heard about Mr. Anderson from Blaine. He wanted to reach out and hold his boyfriend's hand again but he couldn't – somehow it felt like Blaine was beyond his grasp. Kurt reluctantly settled for simply being there.

"It's probably going to seem so stupid to all of you. You've been through so much and I –"

"Blaine, honey, please stop apologizing and acting as though we don't care about you. Because we do," Carole said forcefully, catching Blaine's gaze and holding it. "We want you to tell us. We want to listen. You say anything and everything you have to. Please."

Blaine's eyes gleamed, but he closed them quickly, pressing his thumb and index finger against his lids. He took in a wet and rattling breath, and started his story, stumbling at first, then steadying and inserting detail and emotion. Kurt immersed himself in it, watching every expression on Blaine's face, listening for every modulation in his tone.

It wasn't hard to picture it all exactly as Blaine told it . . .

_The dining room had a high ceiling and warm yellow lighting; only Blaine and Claire were in it, sitting next to each other, with the rest of the small party elsewhere, chatting over some pre-dinner cocktails _(nothing of the room had been described by Blaine, but Kurt had an active and creative imagination)._ Claire had been a snot-nosed brat, but she'd grown into a cute, sweet girl, with an interest in foreign languages and music from the big band era. Blaine had found himself pleasantly surprised by this and fell into easy discussion with her. He could feel it when his father was watching from across the large room, but he managed to ignore it and tried his best to actually have a good time._

"I wanted so badly for things to be normal between us," Blaine said quietly. "It was easy to try, easy to fall back on it, but at the same time, I wasn't going to lie to Claire, especially considering how nice she was being. I'm really bad at telling when someone is into me or not . . ." He shot a small, sheepish smile at Kurt, who couldn't help smiling back. "But I had to tell her that I was taken, at least."

"_Found any guys who share your love of the Rat Pack?" Blaine asked, half-teasing, half-serious. He waited nervously for the response, hoping that the answer was yes._

_Claire tossed her head back, laughing. "Are you kidding? How many kids in our generation do you know that actually recognize the names Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr. and, though it pains so very much, Frank Sinatra?"_

_Blaine grinned, "Actually, I know more than a handful that do. Definitely most of the Warblers. And my . . . good friend, and some of his glee club are of the enlightened sort."_

_The girl's smile brightened, and Blaine wasn't able to tell if it was suggestive or not, so before she could say anything in response, he cut her off with, "Actually, I'm dating said good friend, so, if you like I could ask around –"_

"_Blaine, relax, I wasn't about to hit on you." She blushed as she said this, and her eyes drifted to where their parents were located. "Mostly because my mom was dropping hints and anything she says, I tend to do the opposite."_

_Blaine felt instant relief, and was just about to relax back into the conversation when the adults, including Claire's older sister and her fiancé, came back over, announcing the start of dinner._

"My dad kept looking between me and Claire whenever we laughed together, or spoke. It was aggravating. I just kept thinking that he wouldn't have been nearly as . . . I don't know,_ observant, _if I hadn't gone and rubbed my boyfriend in his face." Blaine shook his head, hands clenching into fists and then releasing. "I guess it was only a matter of time before it all came to a head but this wasn't what I wanted to happen."

He flicked an ashamed glance over at Kurt, "I know you think it's wrong and dysfunctional, but the whole avoiding-the-issue thing was what was working for us. But every time he looked over at Claire and I, and smiled at me . . . it wouldn't have bothered me last week, but it did then. It _does _now."

"It should have from the start," Kurt couldn't resist saying. "He can't mold you into something else, Blaine. He's been wrong in all this, not you."

Blaine didn't reply to that; he breathed in and out deeply, and his voice was hoarse when he spoke. Kurt gave in to temptation, grabbing one hand as Blaine rasped out the rest of his tale.

_Blaine hadn't taken more than a few bites of his meal between the constant conversations and laughter. He'd forgotten how funny Claire's father, Gerard Linville, could be, and Claire's older sister, Maeve, reminded him of Kurt in some ways: she was quick with a sarcastic retort, but kind and willing to soften said sarcasm with a compliment or good-natured ribbing _(Kurt's cheeks warmed at this description, and Carole flashed him a knowing smile. His dad even quirked a grin at that, though it was short-lived as Blaine shakily carried on)_. Her fiancé, Jake, was quiet, but he seemed to adore Maeve. Mrs. Linville also wasn't all that active in the discussions going on, but she laughed at her husband's jokes and smiled a lot. It all almost made him forget his increasing irritation with his father. His mother noticed the on-and-off staring contest, but only narrowed her eyes at them both, excusing herself to go get some more wine to replenish the empty bottle on the table, and Claire's mother followed, stopping to drop a kiss on her eldest daughter's head._

"_Okay, if you're not going to eat that piece of chicken parmesan, pass it over here," Claire demanded, lifting her fork in a vaguely threatening manner. "It's getting cold, sad, and lonely on your plate, and I'm still pretty starved."_

_Blaine slid his plate further away. "No way. I'm savouring it. The reason as to why you're still hungry is because you wolfed yours down so fast I doubt you even chewed. Which is very unhealthy, by the way."_

_Claire's father chuckled. "Wow, I knew this was coming, but it's a little disconcerting. Sweetheart, keep the flirting to a minimum, okay? I'm having enough problems with your sister leaving me – if you want, you and Blaine can head over to the kitchen and eat whatever's left of the chicken there."_

_Claire rolled her eyes. "You and mom have to stop seeing potential romance every time I'm standing – or sitting – next to a guy. And besides, Blaine's taken."_

_Blaine instantly sought his father's eyes, and the man was staring at him in shock, as if he couldn't believe Blaine would dare to mention such things outside. In public. The annoyance and anger Blaine had been battling flared up painfully. He knew that his dad saw it quite plainly, because his own jaw clenched and he looked away._

"_Wow, Blaine, you move pretty fast there, son – I was talking to your dad just this past week, and you were a single lad then." The man winked at Blaine, not noticing the sudden, exponential increase in tension between the two Anderson men. "Want to share about this girl, Blaine?"_

"Dad probably thought I'd be too ashamed to bring it up or some idiocy like that," Blaine all but spat out. "Which, considering the way I went on about you, Kurt, he really should've realized that it's only with _him _that I'm . . . quiet about who I am. That with you, with my mom, with _everyone _else that I know, I can be myself. But my own father . . ."

The anger faded fast and Kurt squeezed his hand, blinking back tears. Carole finally crossed that miniscule distance between fingertips and clasped Blaine's other free hand. The three of them sat like that for a while before Kurt's dad asked quietly, "What happened next?"

"_Dad, c'mon." Claire was waving her fork at her father this time. "Stop being so embarrassing, please, or I'll elope with the first cute hipster that crosses my path."_

"_Oh, I'll drink to that," Maeve chimed in. "If only to see the look on mom's face. Please, document thoroughly if it happens!"_

_Gerard chuckled. "I'll believe that when I see it. And hey, if you bring him home first, I'll give you my blessing."_

"_Don't you even joke about that, Gerard!" Mrs. Linville came back into the room, without Blaine's mother, which had him wondering where she was, though the next comment brought him jarringly back to the table. "She's headstrong enough to actually do it, or even, heaven forbid, do worse. She'll be bringing home a girlfriend next, and then you'll be sorry."_

_Blaine shrunk down into his chair. Claire shrugged. "Maybe, mother. After all, this is the age I'm supposed to be figuring those kinds of things out. There's this girl in my class that's pretty cool and open about being bi, maybe I'll just –"_

_Mrs. Linville groaned, "Claire, do not push me tonight."_

"_She's only kidding, don't let her rile you." Claire's father tried to placate his wife. "She has enough good sense not to be drawn in by this gay fad that's going around. I swear, I've never seen so much homosexual content and connotations as I have in recent years. Movies, TV, magazines – no wonder so many kids think they're gay, they're practically being force-fed the idea by the media."_

_Blaine had dealt with derogatory comments from people; he'd been told that he was less than human or going to hell (his bullies hadn't been all that creative with their insults) and he'd had others say that they were cool with it, though they still found it 'strange' or 'uncomfortable.' But this was too close to home. These were people who may not be near and dear to him at present, but had known him almost since he'd been born and were now denouncing and dismissing him without even realizing it._

_His father said nothing at first, then, "Not that I don't agree with you, Gerard, but it's not something I think we should be discussing right now."_

_Blaine's heart clenched brutally. The combination of hurt and anger was making what little dinner he'd eaten turn in his stomach._

"_In other words, father dear, you're breaking your own rules by bringing up politics and religion at the dinner table." Maeve scowled at him, and Blaine felt his hopes lift slightly because both her and her fiancé looked distinctly unamused. A side-glance at Claire had her shooting him an apologetic smile._

"_It's not either of those things, only a social commentary," her father defended himself, but cheerily dropped the subject. "Besides, as I said, we've been blessed with normal and well-adjusted kids, so it's irrelevant. And Blaine, I didn't mean to put you on the spot – you should've brought your girlfriend with you, though. We would have been perfectly happy to welcome her."_

Blaine stopped there, abruptly, and had to clear his throat several times before he could speak again. Kurt was holding his breath, and he could see both his parents staring at Blaine, waiting and seemingly bracing themselves.

Blaine clutched tightly at the two hands he was holding, shaking his head. "I don't know why I did it. I don't understand what the hell came over me."

"_I wanted to bring the person I was seeing, but dad wouldn't let me," Blaine said lowly._

_Silence. His father stared at him, eyes wide. "Blaine, this isn't the time or the place."_

"_Not someone you approve of then?" Gerard looked towards his friend, though he shot a quick glance at his wife, who was frowning at him, but also looking a little interested in the spark of drama._

"_That wasn't it," was the protest his father made. Blaine clutched at his napkin, balling it up in his fist as his father lied. "They've only been dating for a week –"_

"_Actually, we've been dating for almost two months now," Blaine cut him off, staring at him unforgivingly. "But I didn't want to tell dad because I knew he would see it as . . . how did you put it?" He switched his gaze over to Gerard, restraining a scowl, trying to keep up a calm and indifferent front. " 'An idea force-fed by the media'? A 'gay fad'?"_

_He was very proud of not stumbling over that last one, and maintaining unflinching eye contact with the man who he'd once thought of as an uncle._

_Claire gasped, but he didn't turn to see what her facial reaction was. Maeve only raised an eyebrow and her fiancé looked mortified, though for who, Blaine couldn't tell. But Claire's mother and father looked absolutely gobsmacked._

_Blaine figured he might as well go for broke. "My _boyfriend _is a great guy named Kurt, and I would have loved to introduce him to all of you." He now turned to Claire, who had a hand coming down from her mouth. She looked shocked too, but a smile was starting to form. "He's definitely familiar with Frank Sinatra and other singers you'd love. We should get together some time, all three of us, for coffee. You'd like him."_

"_I think that'd be nice," Claire agreed softly. "Name the time and place."_

"_Claire, what are you doing?" her mother asked in faraway voice, the shock not having faded yet._

_Claire didn't respond immediately, exchanging glances Blaine couldn't begin to understand with her sister before replying casually, "Making a coffee date with Blaine – this is what you and dad wanted, right? Though, you know, with Blaine's boyfriend coming along, it probably isn't quite what you were going for."_

_Gerard turned to Blaine's father, frowning, good humour gone from his face. "Why didn't you tell me about this before?"_

"_I didn't want to discuss private family matters, Gerard, I'm sorry."_

"_Well, considering that I was inviting you beneath my roof, and implying that our kids would be great together, don't you think this might have been relevant?"_

"_I still think Blaine and Claire would be great together," Blaine's father insisted, and Blaine could not let that go by without comment._

"_Dad! I'm gay. As in, my orientation is one that points to the male gender, with no deviations. Not in my case."_

"_Blaine," Gerard broke in, speaking kindly and sounding so understanding that Blaine couldn't reconcile the tone with the words that came next. "Look, son, I know that you're going through a confusing time, but there's no way that you can be so sure about something like that at your age. And you'll see, once you're older and married, with kids, you'll look back on this and laugh."_

"_For Christ's sake, Dad, could you be more antiquated!" Maeve snapped._

"_I'm sorry, sir, but that's just not true. I don't find any of this funny. I'm sure when my future _husband _and I look back on this, we'll agree on that."_

_His father had gone mute, eyes flicking back and forth between all the occupants of the table._

"_Blaine, you will not be marrying a man in the state of Ohio." Claire's mother snorted, coming alive and shooting Blaine a sad and pitying look. She then turned to Blaine's still-mute father. "Listen, a good friend of mine had a nephew that went all" – she waved vaguely at Blaine – "on her too. She sent him to this great camp. We'll look up the information for you."_

_Blaine's stomach pitched and rolled. He could not believe what the evening was turning into. Mrs. Linville and her husband discussed this with such calm, while Maeve and her sister quietly seethed, then not so quietly seethed, and Jake the fiancé was suggesting they just leave._

_Through out it all, not a word passed his father's lips and Blaine felt despair welling up in him. But if his father wouldn't . . ._

"_Hey!" That brought silence back at last. He stood up, glaring down at everyone, though everything inside of him was shaking as if he was about shatter into a thousand pieces at any second. "This has gone far past the point of rudeness, and cleared offensiveness a while ago. I'm done listening to you judge me and debate ways in which to correct my 'mistakes' or 'delusions.' I like men. I am dating a man. I will continue to like men all my life. And it has nothing to do with any of you."_

"_Blaine." Claire's father appeared to finally be losing his patience. "You used to be such a bright, fun kid. I can't stand to think of you losing yourself like this. Don't you feel even the slightest bit wrong about it all? Or maybe it's just that you don't know what it's like to be with a girl," he mused. Blaine breathed in, ready to counter this argument, but the man continued on relentlessly. "You can't possibly have seriously considered a future with this boy you're 'dating,' or indeed any man. Don't you realize what two men get up to? It's not safe, and it's not right – in fact, it's all kinds of depraved. I'm telling you, you're just confused. You can't be that –"_

"_I'm well aware of what two men 'get up to' as you so charmingly put it. Like any teenaged boy, I've done some secret porn watching, sir. While pornography as a whole can be categorized as 'depraved' in some ways, I'm pretty sure I'll be partaking in some of that depravity at some point in my life. Though assuming I'm lucky enough to be with someone I love, I wouldn't consider it depravity." Despite all the turmoil inside him, Blaine felt a distinct pride in having said all of that unwaveringly and without shame._

_Mrs. Linville recoiled. "You need help, Blaine. Something must have brought this on. I've read that abuse from teachers, or what have you, can be a factor – is that why you suddenly transferred over to Dalton Academy? Your mother never fully explained that decision to me."_

_Blaine's jaw dropped. He could not believe the level to which these people he'd known for years were sinking. His glanced desperately towards his father, who stared back at Blaine – however, it wasn't he who spoke, but the person entering the room behind him._

"_That's because I considered it none of your business, and I'm now certain that I made the right decision."_

_Blaine had never heard his mother sound so cold, even throughout some of his parents' worst fights. It was wonderful to have her come out and support him, defend him, but he was still staring at his father, waiting, wanting, wishing._

"_What's the matter with you, Bels?" demanded Mrs. Linville. "How can you neglect your son like this? Pretending that this is normal, or that it will simply go away will not –"_

"_Harriet, stop this nonsense. Bernard, don't you have anything to say? Have you been sitting here this whole time letting these people tear down our son?" There was next to no anger in her tone, just that same coldness._

_His father opened his mouth, but it seemed he had nothing to offer but silence._

_Blaine's lungs were constricting. It was too much for him to bear and even the quiet and not-very-quiet support of others, including his mom, wasn't easing the burden. His mother was staring at her husband, her icy expression fading into despair and disappointment. It cut at Blaine to see his mother hurting – because of him, because of his dad._

"_He can't defend what he knows to be wrong," Mr. Linville said with a frown. "I'm sorry, Belinda, but your son is sick, and if you don't put a stop to this he's going to end up in dire straits – he could be taken advantage of by older perverts, or get AIDS or . . ."_

"_Bernard!" His mother raised her voice. "You better not let this go on a moment longer!"_

"_Belinda, he can't!" Mr. Linville put a supportive hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's all right. Harriet and I will get you the name of that camp, and you can talk with Bels about it later, calmly and . . ."_

_And nothing. Nothing, nothing. His father had watched and listened to these people attack him, attack his son and __**nothing. **__Was this it? Was every horrible thing coming from the mouths of these so-called friends what his father truly thought of him? Or not? Why wouldn't he just __**say something! **__Oh God._

"Oh _God_." There had been tears sliding down Blaine's face for the last portions of this story. Kurt inhaled wetly, his own face damp, and he let go of Blaine's hand, coming in for a hug. He hesitated, not sure if Blaine wanted to be touched right now, but Blaine turned to him, folding himself into Kurt's embrace, his face finding that same spot between neck and shoulder, more hot tears escaping and soaking the collar of Kurt's thin, white-cotton sleep shirt.

Kurt's lungs ached due to the number of times his breath had hitched, or he'd simply forgotten to take in air. His imagination had gone every which way as Blaine told his story, but any minute relief he felt that things hadn't gone down any of the terrible paths he'd been envisioning, it evaporated all too soon because here was Blaine, broken and crying in his arms, and it was so, so much. Too much. It was brutal and gut-wrenching, and he just wanted to do something, anything to _fix it, damn it_. He looked over his boyfriend's head through blurred eyes, gazing at his parents.

His father was nearly expressionless, a hard edge to his eyes Kurt had seen only a handful of times in his life. Carole was wiping at her face with a napkin, though she exchanged a similarly harsh stare with his dad.

Blaine's sobs were quiet and quick to end. He lingered in the circle of Kurt's arms despite the awkward position, with their legs and chairs preventing true comfort. But he clutched at Kurt, and Kurt hugged him tightly, not even bothering with words – there was nothing he could think of to say and he didn't want to make things worse by trying.

Blaine slowly began unraveling their hug, starting with lifting his head, then pulling away until he was back to sitting upright in his chair, though he had one of Kurt's hands in a death grip.

It didn't take much longer for him to compose himself, and once he'd cleaned the remnants of tears, swallowed some of the water he'd touched less than he'd touched his pie, and cleared his throat, he even looked close to normal _–_ if one ignored the redness circling his eyes and nose, and the pinched expression on his face.

"Is . . ." Kurt had to clear his own throat as his voice came out as barely a rasp. "Is there more?"

Blaine breathed in deeply. "Not really. A few more suggestions for my rehabilitation, and I couldn't handle it anymore. I ran. It's a good thing my phone was in my pants' pocket and not my dinner jacket. I left that behind. And my coat. I ran the entire way to the park and then I called you."

"Have you called your mother?" Carole asked, frowning. "Blaine, she must be worrying her head off."

Blaine pushed back further into his chair, licking his lips while shaking his head. "She . . . she's been calling. But I don't want her to try and convince me to go home. I can't. I don't want to. Please understand."

Carole let loose a shaky breath, her eyes gleaming. "I do understand, honey. But I can't let your mom _–_ and your father _–_ go an entire night not knowing where you are. What if they call the police? Here, give me your phone, I'll call them for you."

"But what if –"

"I'll tell them you're staying with us tonight, and we'll let them know when they can come over tomorrow . . . well, today, once everyone's gotten some sleep," she said with a small smile. "Is that okay?"

Blaine shifted uneasily in his seat, but he nodded, pulling his phone out. Kurt could see him bringing up his parents' number before handing it to Carole. She took it, standing and heading to the kitchen, briefly pressing a hand onto Kurt's father's shoulder. When she was gone, his father braced his arms on the table, crossing them and leaning into Blaine's space, his eyes boring into his. "Blaine, you're not _wrong, _or _sick, _or _depraved. _Everything those assholes said was the result of some seriously old-fashioned thinking, and a stupid lack of information."

"I know that," Blaine said tonelessly.

"Yeah, well, it feels like _someone _other than you should be saying it tonight. I've got no business trying to figure things out between you and your father, but I'll tell you right now that nothing that happened tonight was your fault, okay?" Kurt watched with pride even as his father struggled to find words. "It was a bad situation and you reacted. You did the right thing calling Kurt to come get you and bring you to us. And I know it was hard, telling us all that, but thank you for doing it."

Blaine seemed at a loss, and his eyes started watering again. "Thank _you_, sir."

Kurt could see that his father wanted to say more, but he only shook his head, standing up and putting a hand on Blaine's shoulder, looking towards Kurt. "Wanna help me set up the couch?"

Kurt braced himself for the reaction he knew was coming as he asked, tentatively, "Dad, can Blaine stay in my room tonight?"

Blaine's head whipped toward him, a bizarre mixture of gratitude and incredulity crossing his features. Kurt couldn't believe he'd been able to ask that out loud either, but he couldn't stand the idea of Blaine downstairs, alone, after the night he'd just had.

His father paused for a second before responding, "Yeah, sure."

Blaine's eyes widened and Kurt's jaw dropped. "Really?" He may have squeaked, but _holy crap, really?_

"It's not a problem, your bed is big enough," his dad said easily.

Carole came back then, handing Blaine his phone. "It's all done. Your mother says that she loves you."

Blaine didn't react at all to that, simply saying, "Thank you," and pocketing his cell.

"Blaine's gonna be staying in Kurt's room," his dad said, and Kurt was still having problems comprehending this. _Did he really just say that? That I can have my boyfriend in __**my bed**__?_

"Good. C'mon Blaine, I'll get you one of Finn's shirts, I think you're a little too broad in the shoulder for one of Kurt's. Though I suppose for pants, one of Kurt's would be a better fit?" She flicked her gaze toward Kurt, silently asking permission and Kurt gave it with a nod.

"Is there an extra toothbrush I can use?" Blaine asked, standing on trembling legs. Kurt stood up immediately, reaching to wrap an arm around his waist. Blaine leaned back into him, gifting him with a warm, loving glance. It gave Kurt a pleasant shiver before reality struck yet again, intruding upon their moment.

"Definitely, don't worry, I've got it all. Follow me."

And then Blaine was gone, following Carole upstairs.

He whipped towards his father once they were alone, mouth opening, but his dad beat him to it. "Kurt, I trust you. I've told you this before, and this is me showing you that I mean it. Blaine's hurting badly – I'm sure neither of you is gonna get up to anything . . . inappropriate tonight. You just make sure he's okay, get him to sleep."

Kurt mouthed silently and then reached for his father, all but tackling him with a hug. "Thank you," he murmured into his shoulder.

Those sturdy arms came up around him, and he felt the faint impression of a kiss being pressed to the top of his head. "You don't gotta thank me for this, Kurt. You're a good kid. And so's Blaine."

Kurt laughed shortly, trying to keep tears at bay. "No, actually I mean . . ." He pulled back a little. "I meant . . . you know what? Never mind."

But it looked like his dad understood the unspoken words because his eyes went hard again, and his voice was a low growl. "Kurt, I may've had my problems over the years dealin' with you, but never, even when I was still figuring things out and being an idiot about the whole gay thing, _never _would I have let _anyone _get away with saying things like that to you in front of me. That Gerard asshole would have been picking up his teeth from the floor if I'd been there."

"Maybe we could still arrange that?" Kurt asked with a hopeful little grin.

His dad nudged him, laughing a bit. "Yeah, sure. Except that I don't think you want to be bailing your old man out of jail for assault."

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "No, I suppose not. And the stress isn't good for your heart."

His father rolled his eyes. "Okay, get going. You put that worrying head of yours to good use with your boyfriend. And we'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, dad," Kurt said with a soft, tender smile.

"Good night, Kurt."

As Kurt climbed the stairs, he saw Carole about to climb down. He reached her on the topmost step, biting his lip and asking, "Is he . . ."

"He's cleaned up and ready for bed," Carole said, stroking his arm with a gentle hand. Her eyes were heavy and dark, but she didn't look overly anxious. "He's just exhausted. Get over there and finish taking care of him for me. I think he'd rather be tucked into bed by you, in any case." She gave him a small wink, but Kurt knew that there wasn't any innuendo behind those words.

He gave her a hug similar to the one he'd just given his father. "Thank you for everything."

Another kiss was pressed to his head. "Anytime, Kurt, you know that. Get some sleep, honey."

He took a deep breath as he parted from her, walking into his room with a certain amount of trepidation. Blaine was sitting up in bed, apparently waiting for him. The bedside lamp was on, and Kurt could see that the dark grey shirt Carole had picked out was slightly too big on Blaine – he couldn't see which pyjama bottoms he'd chosen, but that didn't really matter. His eyes locked onto Kurt's as soon as he crossed the threshold.

"Give me a second to get ready and I'll join you," Kurt said in a shockingly even tone, though it was coupled with a shaky smile.

Blaine nodded, sliding beneath the covers and Kurt grabbed the pyjamas pants he'd tossed aside a few hours ago. He dug up a new shirt because the one he was in had been soaked through with sweat that had long since dried and he didn't really want to sleep in it anymore.

He disappeared into the small area where his vanity sat, undressing and then re-dressing quickly. He stared at his bottles of creams and soaps, contemplating going through some of the basics of his night regimen, but decided to forget it. A glance at the clock revealed the time to be just short of three in the morning and he was bone-tired, with his boyfriend waiting for him . . . in bed.

Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, to banish unwelcome thoughts, he walked back out. Blaine looked up at him and nearly every bit of anxiety that had gripped him was let go, vanishing into the ether. "Would you mind turning off the light?" he said as he crawled into bed next to Blaine, sliding under the covers.

Blaine nodded, turning to flick the lamp off. It took Kurt a minute to adjust to the sudden darkness, but soon he could make out shapes and vague details from the combined light of the moon and the street lamps. Blaine was huddled, his back to him, pulling the blankets up to his shoulder. Kurt wasn't sure if he was supposed to mirror him and try to get some sleep . . . but no, he couldn't. He reached over, gripping his boyfriend's upper arm with one hand. "Blaine?"

He didn't turn over, but he made a soft noise of acknowledgement.

"Blaine, did you want to . . ." Kurt floundered for a moment. "Talk, with me? About, well, anything?"

Blaine answered slowly, "I think it was all covered downstairs, don't you?"

"I know. But this is me. Just me."

There was a lengthy pause. Kurt decided to keep talking. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. But I can't stand seeing you like this. So, if you don't want to talk to me . . ." He pulled on his shoulder, and Blaine flipped over without much struggle, looking up at Kurt with a few new, shining streaks on his face that were catching the faint light permeating the darkness around them.

"Come here," was all Kurt said. He wrapped a hand around one of Blaine's forearms, tugging until his boyfriend was safely ensconced in his embrace. Once again, Blaine was crying – quietly, the barest of gasps escaping between sobs – and Kurt was holding him to his chest. Blaine's arms went around him in a grip that was a shade too tight, but Kurt didn't flinch. He just kissed Blaine's temple periodically, and hummed – it wasn't a specific song, or at least, he didn't think it was – until the crying tapered off. Blaine was breathing so deeply and evenly that Kurt thought he'd fallen asleep, and was closing his own eyes to do the same.

"A long time ago, my dad punched my little league coach out."

Kurt blinked into the near blackness. He stared down at the top of his boyfriend's head. "What?"

Blaine huffed, his hold loosening though he didn't move from his position on Kurt's chest, and as he spoke, his hot breath warmed Kurt's skin beneath the thin cotton. "I played baseball when I was seven, but only for a couple of months. The coach was a real prick – he was the type that liked to hurl abuse at the kids. He truly believed that being called fat, slow, a pansy and a girl, was the way to motivate us. He was smart enough not to do it at games, but man, he could be really damn frightening at practice."

Kurt shook his head, hardly believing the behaviour of these sorts of people, but then he remembered his brief stay on the Cheerios _–_ Sue Sylvester was a category unto herself. And then some.

"So, what happened to the jerk?"

Blaine inhaled, and Kurt felt a wave of tenderness at the way their rib cages pressed together, the way he could feel the slightest change in the rhythm of Blaine's breath and heartbeat. It was his kind of romantic intimacy and he loved it. He impulsively kissed the crown of Blaine's head. Blaine returned the favour, kissing Kurt's chest through his shirt.

"We were too scared to tell our parents, but eventually they found out. My dad was pissed, so he came, without telling me, to my next practise. I have no idea where he was sitting, but just as the coach started in on his usual angry tirade, my dad popped up and started reaming him out."

"And the punching?"

"Came when he told my dad that I was the worst ball player he'd ever seen, and told me that I was a little, whining bitch."

Kurt gasped. "Holy hell, he didn't!"

"He did," Blaine confirmed. "And my dad delivered a very impressive right hook. Knocked him flat on his ass. Then he took all of us home for an impromptu barbeque. I never found out what happened to that coach, but I'm sure it's safe to assume he never coached little league in our town ever again."

They were both quiet as Blaine wrapped up his tale.

It took several minutes, but Blaine's breath started coming out in shudders again, and Kurt knew why, just as he knew why Blaine had been thinking of a summer day, years ago, when his father punched out his coach. When his dad stood up and defended his child, just like any good parent should – like anyone would defend someone they loved.

Blaine's tears were noisier this time, too powerful for him to keep them buried chest-deep. Kurt used his arms and his lips to try and reassure Blaine that everything would be all right in the end, murmuring all the things that he had on his mind – he reminded Blaine that his mother had come in to knock some sense into everyone, that his father hadn't actually agreed with any of the crap being said, and that he had so many others in his life that cared deeply for him.

Kurt thought he might have let out several whispered, 'I love you's as he muttered this endless stream of assurances. But he didn't care – he wasn't sure if he was honest-to-goodness in love with Blaine, though he wouldn't know how else to describe the boundless feeling within him, but at the moment, he was trying to ease his boyfriend's pain with any and all words that provided soothing warmth and comfort.

And this time, Blaine did fall asleep, heavy and hot on Kurt's chest, making him tug down the blankets as best he could while pinned under his weight. He managed to get them down to waist level, and then raised his arms back up and around Blaine, staring out towards his windows, catching sight of a sliver of the moon through his partially open curtains.

He tried not to imagine his own father laying Gerard Linville flat, or even Mr. Anderson sporting a black-eye and begging for his son's forgiveness. He tried not to think of Blaine facing his parents tomorrow, or re-telling the whole ordeal to Finn, but the thoughts loomed, leaden and immovable in his mind. His brain did remind him of the last time Blaine had fallen asleep on his chest and how he'd tried (unsuccessfully) to keep himself awake . . .

It was too dark to count individual lashes, so Kurt focused on Blaine's heartbeat. He counted, focusing on the rhythm that he could feel against his own ribs, and he made it up to thirty . . . something . . . when he started to drift off, and then his own exhaustion finally succeeded in triumphing over his restless mind, pulling him down to his much-needed rest.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **I _swear _this is the lowest it gets! Things will cheer-up significantly in the next installment.

I know this was a long wait, considering the cliffhanger I inflicted upon all of you last chapter, but I decided to insert Blaine's POV in the middle of all this, instead of just having him tell the story without much embellishment . . . I know it kicked the angst up a few levels, but it reads a lot better to me that way.

I hope I haven't lost any of you with this heavy chapter, but, as I said, the worst is over! :)

Thank you for all the love you gave me for the previous chapter – while I did reply to all of you, I can't say 'thank you' enough! *hugs*


	8. Chapter 8

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 8**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kurt wasn't entirely aware of much when wakefulness began to intrude upon the grey nothing of his mind. That he was warm, a little too warm, might have been the first thing he registered through sleep-laden senses; it was followed by light, bright against his closed lids, the sounds of birds, wind rustling through leaves, breathing, off beat to his own, _not _his own . . . His eyes fluttered open, sticking a little, much to his disgust. He lifted a heavy hand to rub and free them, blinking and glancing down at the human space heater on his chest.

A jaw-breaking yawn interrupted his drowsy musings on how he and Blaine had barely moved at all in their sleep. That wasn't too much of an oddity for him as he only lashed out when in the midst of nightmares or weird dreams. He recalled drunken Blaine being restless and somehow stretching his compact body to take over the entire bed, but there he was, almost exactly as Kurt had left him the night before, snuggling on top of him.

Kurt closed his eyes again, breathing in, catching faint scents – sweat, grass, cologne, and that indescribable smell of _morning_ combined with a solid night's rest.

Blaine shifted, slightly, sliding a little further down Kurt's chest, which would be when Kurt's eyes snapped wide open, realizing, _feeling _that another part his body was most definitely _awake_. He exhaled slowly, somewhat shakily, appreciating the fact that Blaine, not unlike an octopus, had his limbs spread every which way, which meant that there wasn't anything _pressing_ to concern himself with. He lifted a leg, wincing, and feeling a burst of panic at the thought of Blaine suddenly shifting and making this problem no longer a problem in the most embarrassing way possible.

Luck ended up being his lady, because Blaine was waking up himself, sliding again, this time upwards, the top of his hair brushing Kurt's chin as it lifted. Bleary hazel eyes surveyed him, and Blaine's head dropped as he muffled a yawn against Kurt's collar. Then he lifted his head back up, lids at half-mast, voice hoarse and low. "Good morning."

Kurt felt a corner of his mouth draw upwards, despite his situation. "Good morning, Blaine."

Blaine nodded, and quite abruptly, he was flopping back down onto Kurt's chest, forcing a sharp intake of air. An apology may or may not have been given – Blaine was mumbling into Kurt's shirt, and tracing circles with one hand low on Kurt's side.

"Sorry, say again?"

Blaine moved, his mouth no longer muffled. "Let's go back to sleep."

Kurt rolled his head to face his bedside clock, squinting at the numbers through sleep-logged eyes. "Blaine, it's ten thirty."

"So?"

"So that's _disgusting. _I feel gross – I need a shower, and I didn't touch any of my creams last night which means I need to take care of that, _stat, _before anything horrible and spotty happens, and no offense, but you could do with some basic clean-up yourself."

Blaine sighed heavily. "Are you sure?"

"_Yes," _Kurt hissed, because Blaine's released breath had brushed over a nipple and Kurt needed to be hiding in his bathroom, _right now. _Apparently this was the threshold to the end of his self-control – early mornings, with his guard down, and his boyfriend on top.

Blaine moved, _at last, _though it was _painfully _slow, and while he was no longer resting on Kurt, he was pressed horrifically close to his side, and when Kurt saw him making a motion to lift his leg to entwine their limbs, Kurt rolled, _fast. _His tumble from his bed was less than graceful, but he managed to quickly stand and bolt to his bathroom, thankful for Blaine really not being a morning person until he'd had a dose of caffeine or a few hours to truly wake up.

He stripped off his pyjamas lightning quick, cranked the cold water up, and without more than a second to brace himself, plunged into the freezing spray. He did not screech or curse loudly, though it was a very near thing, but it had the effect he'd hoped, and once he was sure that he could proceed as normal, he adjusted the water to a comfortable temperature. He went through his whole routine faster than he normally would – every minute apart from Blaine had him reliving what happened last night, ending with the feeling of tears soaking through his nightshirt.

He wrapped himself up in a warm, fluffy, emerald green bathrobe, and poked his head out into the room.

Blaine was asleep.

Kurt raised his eyebrows, walking over to stand next to his bed, watching, waiting. Blaine had spread himself out, looking rather like a misshapen starfish, his face buried in Kurt's pillow, one hand hanging off the bed, the other flung away from him. His legs were tangled up in the blankets.

Kurt was snapping a picture with his phone before he was even conscious of it in his hand. Blaine didn't stir, and Kurt took that as a sign that it was safe to get dressed. His hands hovered over a pair of tight, grey Armani jeans, but he changed his mind, opting for an outfit very similar to the one he'd worn at Carole's behest. He'd already neglected his usual amounts of hairspray (essentially _none _at the moment) for the second time in as many days, so why not? The jeans he decided on instead were still designer, but only tight around his hips before dropping in a straight-leg style. Tugging a snug fitting, dark greyish green T-shirt down over his naked chest he felt . . . _bare. _He normally wore so many (carefully selected) layers that the sensation of soft barely-restrictive fabric against his skin, that one piece of fabric being his skin's sole barrier against the rest of the world, was highly disconcerting.

Maybe his stepmother had been right about more than just Blaine and his wandering eyes. Perhaps he did use his clothes as a shield (and sword because his fashion was positively _lethal _in its brilliance, he thought with a smirk).

Blaine shifted as Kurt was inspecting himself critically in his mirror. He turned to see his boyfriend lifting his head from the pillow, looking left and right in an adorably confused manner. Kurt went over and sat on the edge of his bed, his hip just brushing Blaine's side.

Blaine rolled over lazily onto his back, throwing one arm over his eyes. "What time is it now?"

Kurt glanced at his clock before replying. "Almost eleven thirty."

Blaine let his arm fall, blinking up at Kurt, his sleepy eyes clearing as they slid up and down. Kurt could feel heat creeping down his neck, up to his cheeks and tingling through to the tips of his ears. He wasn't sure what to make of such scrutiny, but he definitely hadn't forgotten all the gorgeous things Blaine had said about him, and he had to stop himself from grinning like an idiot at yet more evidence that maybe, _quite possibly, _all that his boyfriend had said was the absolute truth.

It was at least two whole minutes before Blaine spoke. "So . . . you're showered and dressed – does that mean it's my turn?"

Inexplicably, those casual words had Kurt leaning down, pressing lips firmly and insistently against Blaine's own. His drowsy boyfriend came alive beneath his mouth, previously loose and languid limbs tensing and reaching for him, hands pulling gently on his shoulders as Blaine deepened their kiss.

Kurt pulled back immediately, making a face. "Ugh, yes, your turn – please don't skimp on the toothpaste, go ahead and use as much as you want."

Blaine flushed, but he was laughing too, and Kurt was so glad to see him smiling again that he joined in. Blaine suddenly had his arms around Kurt's waist, his face buried in his stomach. Kurt stopping laughing quite abruptly, one hand on one of Blaine's arms, the other resting lightly on his head. "Blaine?"

Blaine nuzzled Kurt's stomach like a fuzzy domesticated animal of some sort (he realized that he'd been comparing Blaine to a lot of different creatures that morning, but he was too tired to wonder what that meant), and Kurt stared down at his boyfriend, waiting for some kind of verbal response to his inquiry. The arms around his waist loosened their grip. With slow and deliberate movements, Blaine detached himself from Kurt, though he didn't move away from him much, if it all. He flipped onto his back, using Kurt's thigh as a pillow, gazing up at him far more lucidly than he had been just moments before. Kurt held his gaze silently, the fingers of one hand entangled in Blaine's bed-head, his other hand braced on the mattress.

"You are incredible," Blaine breathed out in an awe-laden voice. "Even if we hadn't been dating, if I was still being that same oblivious moron, you still would've come for me, done all that, slept in this bed with me so I wouldn't be alone."

Kurt didn't quite know what to say to that, but he nodded, because, well, _yeah_. "Blaine, if any of my friends had called me in the middle of the night sounding like you did, I would've come. For Puck. For Rachel. For Trent. For _any_ of them. So yes, for my first boy best friend . . . Blaine, you would do the same. Stop acting like I'm Superman."

"You are." He smiled so broadly that the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkled. "Except you are way hotter than any of his incarnations."

"Even Dean Cain? Brandon Routh?" Kurt pursed his lips in mock-doubt.

"Way, way hotter," Blaine confirmed, twinkling and gleaming, cradling Kurt's face lovingly with one hand.

Kurt leaned in again, bending in half to graze his lips against Blaine's, whispering, "You're not getting anything from me until you've brushed your teeth and rinsed with mouthwash. Thoroughly."

Blaine pushed him, managing to pout and laugh at the same time, finally getting up and stumbling out of bed. He paused on his way to the bathroom to stretch and look sheepishly to Kurt. "I kind of don't have anything to wear. I don't want to put those dirty slacks back on. And –"

Kurt waved off his words. "C'mon, who are you talking to? Take a shower, I'll make you an outfit that will be as comfortable as I can make it, while not an offence to those with vision."

Blaine grinned. "I believe it."

And then he was gone behind the bathroom door and Kurt set to work on making his promise a reality. It didn't take much – he found a pair of jeans in his 'shop clothes' pile that were loose and would fit Blaine quite well, with the exception of length, of course, but he could roll them up, as much as that pained Kurt. The shirt wasn't too much of a challenge either – while Finn's shirts were generally a little too large for Blaine, and Kurt's were too small, a third option lay in the Goodwill bags Carole kept in the garage. There he found several of his stepbrother's shirts that had been shrunk in the wash; only one of them he deemed tolerable – a hunter green v-neck that was worn about the collar and bottom hem.

Walking back in, he passed by the kitchen where he saw a large, bright coloured note stuck to the fridge: _Gone to grab some take-out at Tessa's Breakfast Nook – call if you need anything or have a request. Love to you both, Carole, Dad and Finn. _Kurt smiled to himself, brushing his fingers against his stepmother's handwriting. The departure time written on the note was eleven, and Tessa's was only a ten minute drive from his house – which meant that they'd probably be back at any moment.

He went to the basement to throw his two items into the dryer (with some fabric softening sheets) for a few minutes to freshen them up a bit. They were clean but they hadn't been worn for some time. By the time he made it back upstairs, he could hear that the shower was off, which meant that Blaine was likely done. He opened the door to his room, biting his lip, bracing himself for . . . what, he didn't know, maybe the sight of Blaine in a towel or . . . less.

But no, Blaine wasn't anywhere to be seen, meaning he was in the bathroom. Kurt exhaled, mildly disappointed, but relieved too, to not have to deal with more awkwardness. He walked over and knocked on the door. "Blaine? I have some clothes. Did you want to borrow some boxers too, or . . ."

There wasn't a reply right away, but then, "Would that be too weird for you?"

Kurt thought about it, and yes, it was a little weird. However, he personally wouldn't like to put on the same pair of underwear after taking a shower, so . . . "Not really."

"Okay, then yes, please."

Kurt reached into his drawer, pulled out a plain pair of navy blue boxer briefs, adding them to the pile of folded clothes. He knocked on the door again, and it opened fractionally, a hand reaching out and taking the clothes off Kurt's hands. "Thanks, Kurt."

"You're welcome. Dad, Carole and Finn have gone out to bring us food – did you want me to call them to bring back something in particular?"

"No, no, I'm not picky. Hey, can I borrow some gel?"

"As long as you promise to use a drop no larger than a quarter," Kurt warned.

He could practically feel Blaine's disappointment. "All right."

A few minutes after that, Blaine walked out while fussing with his curls, grimacing. "I usually use like, ten times that amount."

Kurt chuckled, moving to stand in front of his boyfriend, using both hands to arrange the damp, black locks semi-neatly. Blaine looked at him from beneath his lashes with a hint of puppy-eyed pleading, and Kurt shook his head. "Not that I don't like your debonair, Cary Grant look, but this, this is nice too. Maybe we can negotiate a schedule – every other week or so?"

Blaine's hands came up, digging into Kurt's hair. "Hey, as long as you make the same deal. You can do things with your hair that I'm pretty jealous of, I have to say, but being able to do this . . ." Blaine's fingers lightly stroked the strands they were wrapped around, " . . . is awesome."

Kurt arched into the hands in his hair, the fingers massaging his scalp. His lids fluttered shut, which meant he missed it when Blaine closed his eyes and leaned in to press his lips against the corner of his mouth. But it took him less than a moment to tilt his head and slide his own lips over Blaine's. He captured Blaine's upper lip, dropping one hand from his hair to splay out against the small of his back.

Eventually, the kiss tapered off with Blaine crumbling against Kurt, hands falling to wrap around him in a desperate hug. The mood shifted abruptly, and that fine trembling in Blaine's limbs, that Kurt was unfortunately becoming familiar with, was back. He kissed Blaine's neck, holding him close. Then he heard the sound of the front door opening, and Finn hollered their names as loudly and obnoxiously as he could apparently manage.

Blaine leaned back, his eyes dry but his expression intensely sad. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Kurt instructed quietly, yet emphatically. "You have _nothing_ to be sorry for."

Blaine's gaze dropped down to somewhere around Kurt's chest, his hands resting limply on his shoulders. When he looked back up, he was smiling ruefully. "How long do you think I can avoid calling them?"

Kurt licked his lips as he considered his answer. "I think it's safe to have some food first and we'll see how it goes after that."

Some of the seriousness faded from Blaine's face as an overly innocent look widened his eyes. "Maybe we can watch a movie after food and see how _that _goes." He then waggled his eyebrows, coupling that already over-the-top gesture with a brilliant grin.

Kurt huffed out a laugh, shaking his head and grabbing one of Blaine's hands off his shoulders. "We shall contemplate further avoidance _after _we've eaten something." Blaine stole a quick kiss, lifting his free hand to stroke Kurt's cheek as he did so. Finn called their names again, and Kurt knew that if they didn't get moving, his stepbrother was going to come upstairs and drag them down to the kitchen himself.

Kurt squeezed the fingers of the hand he was holding as he led Blaine from his room, down the stairs, and towards the sounds of a bag being unpacked and of dishes being stacked and carried out to the dining room. Also echoing throughout the first floor was Finn's claiming of 'dibs' on practically everything that his mother was unloading onto the kitchen island. Kurt felt his mouth watering as he saw the stack of Tessa's famous French toast – one of his few guilty pleasures – and then he straightened when he heard Finn call, "Dibs on the toast!" Carole wasn't a huge fan of French toast, and his father couldn't have any and thus, unless Kurt did something, Finn would totally devour that entire pile of syrupy, carb-loaded goodness.

"Hey!" Kurt slid neatly between Finn and the food, batting away the long-reaching arms with graceful agility. "How about you let the rest of us humans eat, and then you have whatever's left, as usual, you walking, talking garbage disposal." He poised himself protectively over his toast.

Blaine was grabbing a plate, loading it up with eggs and bacon, but watching the ongoing events with a keen interest.

Finn jabbed a warning finger into Kurt's side, and Kurt just managed to hold in the small giggle that would have resulted. "Watch it! We promised Carole no rough-housing in the kitchen, but I will retaliate if you do that again!"

"No, you won't!" his stepmother called from the dining room. "Or I will ground you both!"

Blaine choked out a laugh while neither Kurt or Finn reacted to their parent's pronouncement, staring at each other defiantly.

"If you let me have all the French toast, I won't ever break our Rules of Engagement again," Finn bargained in a low voice.

"No way, it is the one breakfast item of supreme fattiness that I allow myself – but I will limit my request: one slice each for Blaine and me." Kurt glanced over at his boyfriend, who was looking distinctly amused and nodding in agreement with him. Finn gave Blaine a beseeching look, but Blaine grinned back smugly. "I'm not getting involved, but don't think I've forgotten how you _sat on me _to get that last piece of pie."

Finn flicked his gaze back to Kurt, narrowing his eyes. "No seconds?"

"All yours, less those two slices," Kurt agreed.

Finn crossed his arms and then nodded. Kurt nodded back and then snatched himself a plate, immediately piling on two huge pieces of warm, buttery, delicious French toast. "Great, now back off Sasquatch." He threw a teasing smile over his shoulder at his stepbrother before tilting his head over at Blaine. "C'mon, the beast has been temporarily placated."

Finn nudged Kurt's shoulder as he reached for his own plate, and Kurt hip-checked him as he added some slices of fruit to his. Blaine was waiting patiently for him by the entrance to the dining room, shaking his head as Finn stuck his tongue out at Kurt and Kurt, in turn, raised an unimpressed eyebrow back before crossing his eyes and smirking.

When they were all finally seated for lunch (of breakfast food, which would technically make it brunch, but didn't the fact that it was past noon make it lunch regardless? He would have to Google that later), Kurt had been expecting a certain level of discomfort: lots of secret looks between his parents, Finn not-too-subtly trying to find out what happened, Blaine ducking his head in quiet denial.

Instead, it was like every other meal Blaine had shared with Kurt's family in the past couple of months. Plenty of light, fun conversation, laughter as anecdotes were told, arguments when someone disagreed with the telling of it. Kurt could see Blaine relaxing, and he felt the knot of worry and tension in his own chest begin to unravel. He also made a mental note to make sure that this year, each and every member of his family would receive a truly spectacular Christmas gift – not that he was typically less than amazing when it came to such things, but he was seriously considering breaking into his own clothing fund for them. He couldn't help beaming at everyone, even when, inevitably, the story telling took a turn for the embarrassing. Yes, his father did bring up Kurt's little coveralls with the glittery embroidered nametag, and bedazzled cuffs and collar line.

Of course, when Blaine demanded between tears of laughter to see pictures of this, Kurt had to put his foot down.

"Oh, well, no time for that – Blaine and I were going to watch a movie upstairs," Kurt interrupted brightly, shooting Blaine a glare that promised horrific and untold agonies if he didn't follow his lead.

Blaine stood up, to Kurt's satisfaction, though he wore a mischievous grin. "Maybe next time, Mr. Hummel – actually, _definitely _next time."

"I can scan them and send them to you, if you want," Finn offered with a wide, wide smile – though he did flinch back slightly when Kurt bore him down with the same glare he'd given Blaine. However, Finn recovered quickly, shooting Kurt a smirk as Blaine asked if they wanted any help with the dishes.

"No, you two beat it, Finn and I got this," Kurt's dad said with a dismissive wave. Blaine paused in the doorway as they headed out, glancing back towards them. A nervous undercurrent surged upwards as everyone stared at him. His dad and Carole watched Blaine with solemn eyes, and Finn put down his seventh slice of French toast, his gaze flicking back and forth between them.

Kurt hadn't realized that his worry had translated from a knot in his chest to an oddly tight sensation in his heart – as if something was there that shouldn't be, and it was crowding his insides. All it had taken was this single moment of strained silence for him to notice it. No one had forgotten why Blaine was there, obviously, but Kurt could see why playing at normal had been so easy – it was all due to Blaine's smile and the way he fit in within their household with next to no effort.

"It's okay, right, that Kurt and I . . ." Blaine trailed off uncertainly.

"You know the rules, Blaine," Carole said as she pushed back her chair. "Keep the door at least part way open and it's fine with us."

Kurt watched Blaine nod slowly, though his nervousness hardly eased. He knew what Blaine was really asking – he wanted to know how long he could stay, how long he could get away with not calling his parents. Maybe he wanted someone to take the decision out of his hands?

But Kurt wanted to be selfish – he wanted to keep Blaine safe and reassured, and cuddling on his bed while watching a movie was just too tempting a prospect.

He grabbed Blaine's hand, pulling him out of the room and up the stairs, chattering about the various selections he had, wondering if Blaine wanted to finish watching _Moulin Rouge _or if there was something else he had in mind. Blaine quietly suggested another musical, and Kurt gladly popped it into his DVD player, angling the TV so they could watch comfortably from his bed.

He didn't mention, nor hint at, anything to do with Blaine's parents. It was still early afternoon, and they knew where their son was – Blaine could avoid them a little while longer.

But Blaine was still obviously thinking about them – about his father – and that weary sadness on his face was too much for Kurt. He was the one leaning on his boyfriend's chest this time, as the opening number kicked into high gear. But he gave up his comfortable position to surge upwards and seize Blaine's mouth heatedly with his own, completely unexpectedly and _whoa_, Kurt had _no idea _that sucking on someone's tongue could be that _incredible._

Blaine squeaked and had Kurt's mouth not been currently occupied, he would have smiled, maybe even laughed at that cute and definitely mock-worthy sound, but soon Blaine was clutching at his back and arms, and Kurt was supremely glad to discover that kissing was a viable option in helping one's boyfriend with his family problems.

Blaine ripped his mouth away first, gaping at Kurt in shock. "God, Kurt, what was _that_? I'm not complaining – feel free to do that _whenever._" Those huge eyes darted down to Kurt's smiling lips, and he pulled Kurt up by his upper arms, plundering his mouth for a second before continuing hoarsely, "I . . . can't remember what I was going to say."

Kurt smirked up at him. "Good." He adjusted his shirt, which was twisted and bunched up. He wrinkled his nose down at it, and his jeans. So very plain, so very _casual. _He never dressed like this unless he was working at his dad's shop or doing laundry. Blaine caught the look on his face, smirking in return as his hand reached for Kurt's forehead, "I was surprised by your choice of ensemble this morning. Are you feeling well? Have you hit your head?"

Kurt shot him his haughtiest stare and refused to reply as they settled in for the movie. A part of him felt a pang that his second effort at _casual-sexy _hadn't really garnered a reaction, but he immediately chastised himself for being so self-absorbed when Blaine was going through what he was going through. He snuggled back down and commented on the fantastic choreography. Blaine enthusiastically agreed, dropping his teasing, and they kept a running commentary as they watched.

Near the middle of _A Chorus Line, _Kurt started to notice things; how Blaine kept losing his train of thought part way through sentences as they discussed various songs and characters. The way Blaine had been almost absentmindedly reaching into Kurt's hair once Kurt had found a comfortable position on his boyfriend's chest, with one arm wrapped around his waist. He seemed to be watching Kurt just as much, maybe even more, than he was watching the screen.

He glanced down at himself, not understanding what Blaine was seeing. Was it his clothes? Really? This outfit wasn't nearly as bold as anything else he'd worn. He was bare foot, and his feet were ugly, knobby things, and also way too big. There were no other accessories and no hair spray (his hair was no longer damp from his shower, but the bangs were practically in his eyes, and it was tousled from Blaine's hand running through it). Had Carole been right after all? _God, Kurt, your boyfriend is having a serious crisis here, let this go._

"Kurt? Kurt?" Blaine wiggled his shoulder, jostling Kurt out of his thoughts.

"Sorry, were you saying something?" Kurt apologized, barely aware of one of his favourite songs, _Let Me Dance For You, _playing in the background. Blaine raised his eyebrows. "I was saying that this is the one play I've always wanted to see on Broadway. Kurt, you okay?"

Kurt nodded. "I'm fine." He reached up to fix the collar of his shirt, which had been tugged and stretched downwards by his shifting. And when he caught Blaine staring down, he found himself breaking out with, "I just don't understand what it is you find so very _fascinating _about my chest. Or legs. Mostly my chest."

Blaine jerked backwards at this, blinking rapidly, mouth parting, his cheeks reddening. Kurt bit the inside of his cheek hard – the sharp pain of it was his punishment for his total inability to restrain these horrible outbursts.

"I thought I already told you," Blaine said measuredly, curiousity and confusion colouring his expression. "Kurt . . . really, how can you _not _get how gorgeous you are?"

"But like _this_?" Kurt gestured to his less than impressive ensemble. "Seriously?"

So he'd given in to his self-centred impulse for reassurance – at least he could say with a certain degree of surety that Blaine wasn't thinking about _his _problems for now. No, his boyfriend was leering down at him, grinning far too widely. "Especially like this!"

Kurt turned away, scoffing. "Blaine –"

Blaine stole another rough and passionate kiss from him, leaving Kurt tongue-tied and floundering for words. Blaine took advantage of that. "I guess there's no way to convince you overnight, or in a week . . . but when you came out, yesterday, in those jeans, and that blue shirt?" Blaine wheezed out a breath, and then gave a low whistle. "It was . . . something else. You're _something else, _Kurt."

"As opposed to how I normally dress?" Kurt asked with uncharacteristic timidity. "Is there something . . . not appealing about that for you?"

Blaine shook his head quickly. "No, trust me, that's wonderful too. Those tight black slacks and that v-necked sweater with the dark blue . . . and did I mention the tight pants? Like, _any _of those tight pants."

Kurt smacked his shoulder. "I'll have you know that the vast majority of my outfits are carefully constructed pieces of _art_! They are not merely tools to facilitate your ogling!" Though the fact that there had been ogling pleased Kurt to no end. The amount of work it took to yank on and zip up those pants was now justified twice over – not only for fashion's sake, but also for the viewing pleasure of his boyfriend. Kurt had to press his lips together to keep from exploding with happiness.

Blaine kept on grinning. "Yes and no. Yes, works of art, I agree. No, I'm sure you had no intention of drawing looks to that particular area, but you have to know how damn good it looks in every pair of pants that you own. Even in these, though they aren't as . . . constricting."

Kurt leaned back, staring up at the ceiling, his giddiness tempered by those stubbornly lingering doubts. "But, this is so . . . boring."

Blaine groaned, falling onto his back next to Kurt. "How do I get through to you? Kurt, it's like you're . . . _Kurt._ You're always gorgeous, and sometimes when I see you walking towards me at the Lima Bean or in the school parking lot, I see girls checking you out, and then I get to put my arms around you, and it's a total ego-trip, because I know that they are all so damn jealous."

"I'm your arm candy, Blaine? Really?" he asked wryly with a raised eyebrow, still definitely incredulous but maybe . . . Blaine sounded, seemed, looked _so _sincere.

"Shut up." Blaine nudged Kurt playfully. "But it's like you're wearing protective gear too . . . like I can't get too close."

"Hasn't stopped you from trying," Kurt said affectionately, clasping a hand in his own.

"I know. And you've been pretty good about letting me." His hand squeezed tightly and Kurt rolled onto his side, wondering at his life, at the series of events and conversations that kept affirming the presence of this wonderful boy.

"I'm . . . Blaine, I can safely say that no one's ever made me feel as . . . good-looking as you have. I promise to try and let my guard down a little more, but don't count on me dressing like this to be an indicator."

Blaine winked. "We'll save this look for special occasions. Besides, I don't think I want _anyone _seeing you when you're like this." Kurt rolled his eyes, but a smile was creeping up on him and perhaps he believed Blaine, if only a little. His boyfriend seemed to pick up on this change, because his own smile softened and brightened within the same moment.

"Do you understand what I'm seeing? You've got all these sides to you, Kurt, and they're all beautiful and hot to me. _All of them._"

Kurt lowered his head onto Blaine's shoulder, not saying anything. Blaine didn't prod him for more, just tilted into him until his chin was resting on top of Kurt's head. They stayed that way as the movie wound down, and long past the credits and return to the DVD menu screen.

Kurt sighed, drowsy and warm in the best possible way, murmuring a soft apology into Blaine's chest. Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt, pulling him more fully onto his torso. "What is it?"

Kurt closed his eyes. "I'm sorry for being selfish. I know it must be annoying to have to deal with all these . . . stupid little problems of mine."

Blaine jumped on that before Kurt could think of what to say next. "Are you kidding? I hope you are. I think it's awesome that you can talk about these things with me and I think it's even more awesome that I get to be the one to help you, to make you realize how amazing you are." Blaine kissed the top his head. "And, you know, it's nice to know that you're there for me too."

Kurt tilted his head back, his nose brushing against Blaine's jaw. He stared into his eyes. "_Always, _Blaine. But you have to tell me the stupid things too, not just the big ones. Any charming little insecurities I should know about?"

Blaine made a face. "Oh come on, they're so embarrassing, don't make me!"

Kurt felt a sly grin stealing across his face, and he prepared to wheedle and beg his way to an answer, but then his phone rang, interrupting their moment.

He sat up, ignoring Blaine's protests as he picked up his cell from the nightstand, glancing at the name displayed before answering with a smile. "Hey Mercedes."

"Tell me why I had to find out from _Finn _that Blaine _stayed the night _at your house!"

Kurt breathed out slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I hoped he would practise discretion but –"

Mercedes cut him off. "He did – I bumped into him when your dad and Carole were getting food at Tessa's – I overheard him asking your parents about it. And I've been waiting for _you _to call me to let me know . . . wait, is he still there?"

Kurt glanced down at Blaine, who was watching him with a sleepy, contented expression. "Yes, he's still here. And, while I would love to chat with you, my love, I sort of have this hot boy in my bed right now –" He blushed as he said it, but it was worth it for the insanely happy grin that took over Blaine's face.

Mercedes gasped. "Oh, no you didn't! How the hell am I supposed to wait for an update now?"

Kurt laughed, and he knew Mercedes was leaping to all sorts of conclusions, but he had to make sure that this stayed between them. "Listen, I know you're flexing your gossip muscles right now, but can you promise to keep a lid on this until I explain everything? The last thing I feel like dealing with right now is phone calls from all of New Directions – particularly congratulatory ones from Puck."

"Fine, fine." Kurt could hear the impatience in her tone. "Tell Blaine I say hi."

"I will," Kurt promised. "Talk to you soon, Whitney."

"Best believe it, Patti."

He hung up as Blaine was sitting up to kiss him, and they did that for a couple of minutes before Blaine broke the contact to smugly say, " 'Hot boy', huh?"

Kurt poked at his chest, using his other hand to bring up a certain picture he'd taken that morning. He flashed the image in Blaine's face. "Yeah, totally hot. Look at the lump on my bed – doesn't he inspire all sorts of fantasies?"

Blaine was groaning as he stared at that photo. "Oh, damn, Kurt, really? That isn't flattering at all."

Kurt chuckled. "Actually, I think it's pretty cute – that is so going to be your profile picture on my phone from now on. Every time you call me –"

"My phone!" Blaine interjected with panic, glancing around the room. "Sorry, but do you remember where it ended up? I remember your stepmom giving it back to me then nothing of where it went after."

"Hm. I don't recall seeing it last night." Kurt gave his room a once over before dialling Blaine's number. The opening strains of _Blackbird_ floated immediately up into the silence between them. Kurt and Blaine slid off the bed on opposite sides, rifling through the bedside table, in Blaine's pile of clothes from the night before. Kurt frowned, dialling the number again as Blaine's phone cut off and went to voice mail. Finally, he handed his boyfriend the phone, getting down onto the floor to slide under the bed.

The phone's screen was bright, and Kurt snagged it, crawling back out from under the bed, sitting up, his hand immediately reaching up to straighten his hair. "Here you . . . go." He stared down at the picture of him that filled the screen as it rung a few more times.

Blaine tried to take the phone from him, but Kurt held it up and away. Blaine protested, "Hey, c'mon – I know I promised to delete those pictures, but, um, well –"

Kurt shot him a quick side glance, holding him back with one hand braced on his chest, the other bringing the phone down, studying the picture of himself. The Kurt in the picture had a raised eyebrow and faintly confused look on his face, though in combination with his slightly dishevelled hair, a couple of locks of which were flicking down across his forehead, the angle of his tilted head, and unbuttoned collared shirt which exposed part of his pale chest . . . "Huh. I look . . . not as bad as I was expecting in this. In fact, I think one could even say I look rather . . . good."

Blaine snaked an arm around Kurt's waist, pulling him in close while finally reclaiming his phone. He was laughing into Kurt's ear. "That picture is a prime example of how sexy my boyfriend is."

Kurt, for the first time since those nasty little thoughts and worries had begun to plague him, _believed_ Blaine. Because looking at that picture objectively . . . "I suppose there's something to what you're saying after all."

Blaine pumped a fist up in triumph, throwing his head back, singing out, "_If you think I'm sexy, and you like my body –_"

And really, that wasn't something he needed the members of his household to be hearing now, if _ever. _So it was for the good of all present that he tackled Blaine down onto the bed, kissing him for all he was worth. He had a momentary, internal freak-out at their position – Blaine flat on his back, Kurt straddling his hips – but then hot and overwhelming sensations took over, leaving him focused solely on coaxing moans from his boyfriend, and letting Blaine take his turn in dragging embarrassing noises from him.

Kurt slipped his mouth down Blaine's throat, finding the perfect spot just above the juncture of neck meeting shoulder, and sucking experimentally. Blaine's shudder was full-bodied and _fan-freaking-tastic _to feel, pressed against him as he was. He spent some time playing with that area, and a giddy part of his mind pointed out that this was his first time giving Blaine a hickey and wasn't that _awesome_?

Blaine's hands sunk into his hair, alternating between pulling at the strands and simply resting there, but eventually they were only pulling. "Kurt, _ah, _please – stop. Too much, _too much!" _That last one was a broken high-pitched exclamation as Kurt sucked harder, laving at the spot with his tongue before finally sitting up, grinning darkly down at his accomplishment. Blaine was breathing in shivering breaths, staring up at Kurt with worshipful eyes. "I need you to . . . move. Away."

Kurt realized his position on Blaine's lap was probably _not _helping, and he graciously shifted off to the side, resting the urge to put pressure as he did so, because that was just plain mean, and it was evident by what had happened earlier this morning that his own composure could be broken. He didn't want to give Blaine an excuse for revenge, though he could see himself liking the 'revenge' – and his marvellous self-control would be in for another test if he didn't stop that train of thought _now._

Kurt was sitting cross-legged, his knee brushing Blaine's hip. Blaine looked over at him, his smile soft and easy. "You know, as much fun as it would be to sing _Do You Think I'm Sexy_ with you, I think _Close To You_ remains my song of choice."

Kurt lifted one knee, resting an arm on it, waving a hand. "All right, give me the cheese. Let's hear it. Go into raptures about my beautiful self."

Blaine lifted a hand to press against the swiftly purpling hickey – _awesome _– and shook his head. "It's not just a physical thing, it's _this, _Kurt. It's talking to you, and watching movies with you, and being part of your family dinners. It's what I feel when I'm studying with you in one of the common rooms, or sharing lunch with you. I just want to be _close._ All the time. Pathetically so. I don't care how cheesy that sounds, or cliché, or even slightly creepy – it's what I feel, and what I want with you."

Kurt gaped soundlessly. Because it was cheesy. It was cliché. But it wasn't even remotely creepy, or off-putting. And it was making his eyes water and his breath hitch. Blaine sat up quickly, a hand hesitantly reaching out to cradle Kurt's face. "I'm sorry, Kurt, what's –"

Kurt shook his head, turning to kiss the palm of the hand that had halted before actually making contact with his cheek. "I don't think anything's ever going to be wrong, _ever _again. That's all."

Blaine's smile was slow and breathtakingly beautiful, and Kurt let a couple of tears escape because _yes_. 'Yes' to this flawed and perfect boy sitting on his bed. 'Yes' to happiness he hadn't been sure he'd be allowed to keep for longer than a second. Yes, _yes _to finally feeling like maybe he was the fabulous person he proudly proclaimed – because not just anyone could deserve a boyfriend like this, right?

Finn burst through the door, making both Kurt and Blaine jump. His stepbrother was speaking before Kurt could demand the reason for the rude interruption, "Blaine's dad is here! And his mom and I don't know _exactly _why, but dude, it looks pretty deadly down there right now. Burt is shaping up to punch someone, and mom, she's –"

"Kurt! Blaine! Could you both come down, please," Carole called from downstairs.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kurt whipped to stare towards his boyfriend, who'd gone paler than even Kurt; it was disconcerting to see and it brought back all the anxiety and sadness he'd been feeling for Blaine the night before. Finn winced. "Sorry, man, I just . . ." Blaine stood up, ignoring him, heading into Kurt's bathroom though he didn't shut the door behind him. He stood there, bracing his hands on the counter, staring down at the sink as if he was sick, about to throw up.

"Finn, it's fine – tell them that Blaine's in the bathroom, buy us a couple of minutes, okay?"

Finn nodded quickly, running out and thundering back down the stairs. Kurt approached Blaine in a series of cautious, halting movements.

It was a few seconds of heavy silence, then, "I think a part of me wanted to pretend I could stay here until . . ." He trailed off, inhaling deeply and straightening, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Both his and Kurt's eyes zeroed in on the hickey that was now splendid and plain on Blaine's neck. Blaine's eyes widened. "Crap! I can't face them – and your dad – looking like this."

Kurt put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and he wanted to say that what would it matter in the end? But if he had been in Blaine's position – hell, if right now it was him with the hickey and not Blaine? He'd be digging up a scarf or turtleneck (awful as they were), but Blaine's current outfit wouldn't look right with a scarf, and he felt a little ridiculous thinking along those lines, but really, it would be _obvious _that he was covering up . . ._ Oh. _"It's fine, just give me a second." Kurt turned to whip open his cupboards, dragging out a huge make-up case.

"Uh, Kurt, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not nearly as pale as you, so –"

"Blaine, my girlfriends are quite varied in skin tone, and they've been over here more than once for make-overs or pampering – believe me, I have your shade in . . . ah-hah!"

He whipped out some cover-up that he usually used for Tina, and it wasn't a perfect match, but they didn't have a lot of time. It took Kurt less than twenty seconds to hide the reddish purple bruise, and by then, he could hear his father calling, "Kurt, Blaine!"

"We're on our way!" Kurt yelled back, shoving his giant make-up case away into its place.

Blaine was staring at himself in the mirror again, and Kurt met his gaze in the reflection. He smiled wanly at Blaine, grasping a hand and wrapping his other arm around his waist. Blaine's breath caught, and he blinked rapidly, but his eyes remained dry. He gave Kurt his own weak smile in return. "We look really good together."

"Really, _really _good," Kurt agreed. "Tell me what you want from me, Blaine."

Blaine breathed in. "Stay with me. I can't face them – him – by myself again."

"Done," Kurt promised, and then he tugged Blaine out from his bathroom, past his vanity and out the door. They both paused on the top steps, and Kurt could see his father waiting at the bottom, grimacing, trying for a reassuring look, but failing, since his jaw and fists kept clenching sporadically. There was an eerie silence off beyond what Kurt could see, and he knew it was where the Andersons were lurking, likely in the living room, seated on the couches.

Blaine inhaled deeply again, gripping Kurt's hand firmly, and took the first step down the stairs.

Upon hitting the bottom, Kurt immediately spotted the two strangers in his house. Blaine's father stood up as soon as they entered his sight, and Kurt could feel his own father stepping in closer, right behind him and Blaine, his presence both supportive and protective. Carole stood next to him and Finn was next to Kurt, shifting on his feet but staring defiantly at these two people.

Blaine's mother stood not soon after seeing them both. Seeing the Andersons side by side, Kurt could only marvel at how unpredictable genetics could be. Blaine's father wasn't really handsome in the way his son was – he was fairly average, with curly dark hair (though not as dark as Blaine's), standing a few inches taller than Kurt; there were similar traits, such as Blaine's gorgeous hazel eyes and maybe his jaw line, but that was it. The rest of Blaine's good looks clearly came from his mother; she was of Asian descent (though of which country, Kurt couldn't guess), with lovely almond shaped eyes, dark, dark hair, and wonderful light bronze skin.

Yet, despite the fact that Kurt could see that they were Blaine's parents, the resemblance to either of them was hardly obvious.

For several unbearably long minutes, no one said anything. Mrs. Anderson braved the tension filled silence. "Blaine, I think we need to talk before we all head home."

Blaine shuffled himself slightly behind Kurt. Kurt shifted his gaze towards him and then his father, who put a hand on Blaine's shoulder, watching Mrs. Anderson with significantly less hostility than he had been directing at her husband, though still wary. Blaine leaned into the comforting gesture while straightening at the same time, sucking in a lungful of air. "Okay. I guess we should, because, as it stands right now . . . I really don't want to go home." Blaine didn't flick his eyes even _once _towards his father as he spoke, but his mother did.

"I don't blame you," she said in an even tone, directed at Mr. Anderson, who only looked down and away. "And if after we talk you still feel uncomfortable with coming home, you can stay one more night, if Mr. and Mrs. Hummel are willing to have you. I drove your car over, and I have your school things in the trunk."

Blaine's eye fluttered in surprise, and Kurt looked up at his father with a similar expression. His dad raised an eyebrow in response, before saying, "Blaine can stay as long as he likes." It was short and to the point, and Kurt felt himself standing even taller, looking towards the Andersons with a cold expression on his face.

Mrs. Anderson nodded, her eyes never leaving her son's. "Will you talk with us? Please?"

Blaine hesitated, finally glancing, albeit almost too quick to catch, towards his father. "Fine. But Kurt gets to stay."

His dad's other hand came up to grasp Kurt's shoulder. "Do you need us to stay, Kurt?"

Kurt looked over at his parents and stepbrother, taking in their concerned and serious expressions. He covered his father's hand with his own, and then shook his head. "I'll call if we need you."

His dad nodded, squeezing his shoulder once, and then leading Carole and Finn out of the living room, going to do who knows what, but Kurt knew that they would be close by and that was reassuring. Blaine took Kurt's hand in his once they were alone with his parents, guiding him to stand over by the mantle. He didn't sit and neither did his parents. Everyone was staring at each other, and once again, Mrs. Anderson was the one to break the stalemate.

"I want you to know, Blaine, that every single thing that came out of the Linville's' mouths was poison, and a poison that I do _not _subscribe to or would ever tolerate someone I love being exposed to. I'm sorry I didn't come back in sooner." Her frame sagged, and Kurt saw her formality soften. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart, that you had to hear all of that. I'm grateful that Claire and Maeve were there – they've always been such bright girls."

Blaine pressed his lips together, nodding. His voice was a few notches above a whisper as he asked, "Did you know that they thought like that? Mom, did you know?"

She pushed out a long, trembling breath, more of her firm poise falling away. "I had an idea, but I never thought that they would be so rude and presumptuous as to direct their . . . _opinions _to someone like that, let alone _my son. _I've told Harriet and Gerard that they can erase me off their contact list, and to not expect a Christmas card or invitation to our home this year, or ever again. Though it may have been said with less . . . finesse than I wanted." She smiled crookedly at Blaine, but he only watched her with tired eyes. "Maeve and her fiancé are still on our list though, if you find that agreeable."

Blaine nodded. "You can add Claire to that list too, though I doubt her parents would let her attend any Christmas party we throw."

Mrs. Anderson tilted her head. "Maybe. But the gesture would be enough, I think, to put emphasis on the fact that _they _are not wanted." Her expression was tinged with a delighted sort of malice.

Kurt was starting to very much like Blaine's mother, though the gaping silence that was Blaine's father was starting grate on him, as was the way he seemed to be both trying to avoid looking at Kurt, yet constantly flickering his eyes down to his and Blaine's joined hands.

"You scared me, Blaine. Very much," his mother said shakily, her eyes gleaming though she kept her distance. "You disappeared into the night, and I couldn't even begin to guess where you'd go – I thought maybe you'd come here, but I didn't have Kurt's number and I was dealing with Harriet and Gerard, and your . . ." Her hands lifted once, then dropped when Blaine made no motion to step closer. "Blaine, I've said it only once, and it bears repeating after this – I couldn't _care less _about your orientation. It matters more to me that you finish school and succeed in university. That you find happiness and purpose. And that you find love, with whoever it may be. You are who you are, Blaine, and that is _my son. _Please, don't ever think otherwise."

Blaine's eyes were shining, but even as he stepped towards his mother, the pain in his features sharpened – because his father was standing next to her, and he hadn't said a word. Blaine stopped after just one step, staring at Mr. Anderson.

Kurt was trembling at the effort of not launching into a vicious and debasing tirade against the man, but Blaine's heartbroken "Dad?" helped re-align his thoughts, and he pressed in close to Blaine's side, stopping short of embracing him.

Mr. Anderson looked up at Blaine, and he took in a breath before saying, "I'm sorry, Blaine. It's poor compensation for what happened last night, but it's all I have to offer. Because watching you run out of that house, knowing how much I let you down – it was the worst I've ever felt in my life."

It wasn't enough, Kurt agreed, but it was a start. Blaine was the one shaking now, but his tone was even as he spoke. "How much of what they said to me did you consider true? Because I can't think of any other reason why you would let them do that to me."

Kurt was expecting Blaine's father to cut in, or immediately exclaim that he could not, and would never, believe in all the crap that was said. But instead there was a lengthy pause, while his father looked increasingly miserable. "Blaine, I've been trying to understand this – understand you. Your mother has been attempting to explain it all, but . . . a part of me feels that it's wrong, that it's unnatural, and it, it's difficult to reconcile it with you. But I've never admitted that to myself, let alone out loud, because I was hoping that you would . . . it would change, that it would be a phase and we could move on. When Gerard started in on you, I froze, because I couldn't think of what to say in your defence. Because, yes, Blaine, a part of me agreed with what he was saying."

Blaine sucked in a wet gasp, and Kurt did too, because he could _not believe _what this man had just said to his son. Blaine's mother crossed the distance between them, wrapping Blaine up in a hug, murmuring soft reassurances in his ear in a musical language before releasing him, though staying close. "Wait, Blaine, wait and listen."

Blaine lifted his free hand to scrub away tears, and Kurt glared malevolently at his father, barbs on the tip of his tongue and at the ready.

Mr. Anderson's red-rimmed eyes were filling as well. "Blaine, you deserve better than me for a father, because no real father worth his salt would have stood by and let that happen to his son. I know you won't believe me, but I was horrified and angry that Gerard dared say all that to you. It wasn't his place, and it damn sure wasn't his right. The way they hurt you . . . I wanted to grab you and get you out of there, but I didn't. Because I'm a coward. Because I froze. Because everything that you and I have never talked about surfaced and I found myself incapable of doing anything but watching."

He stopped there to take in another breath, and Blaine was crying again, though Kurt wasn't sure he realized it. He knew that his own vision was blurring, because Blaine's pain was tangible, and Kurt wanted nothing more than to take it away, bear it himself, _anything _to make it stop hurting.

"This isn't me excusing myself, Blaine. This is me telling you that even though there are parts of me that don't want you to be gay, none of that matters more than _you. _I love you more than that, and I am so sorry I couldn't rise to the occasion and defend you like any decent man would. But I love you, Blaine, and I want you and I to sit down and try to work this out."

Kurt was still furious for all the agony this man put his boyfriend through, but he could see the extended olive branch for what it was, and appreciate the honesty, however much of a let down it was. Blaine sniffled a few times, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, rubbing at his neck self-consciously, before looking at his mother, an unreadable expression on his face. Well, unreadable to Kurt – Mrs. Anderson seemed to understand it. She ran her hands through his hair once, looking a little surprised that she could, something that had Kurt smothering down a very inappropriate giggle. Then she kissed his temple, leaving her forehead against his. "I didn't make him do this, Blaine. Stop worrying about us."

Blaine closed his eyes, leaning into his mother, tugging Kurt closer, and Kurt met Mrs. Anderson's eyes over Blaine's bowed head. The warmth and gratitude in them was plainly there for all to see, and Kurt smiled in reply to the wordless 'thank you.'

"I'll come home," Blaine said finally. "Just . . . later tonight – after dinner, maybe?"

His mother's expression brightened. "That's fine, Blaine. Your car is parked on the curb, and there's a duffle bag with your uniform and pyjamas and the like, if you change your mind."

Blaine nodded, his own smile small. "Thanks, mom. I'll . . . I'll call and let you know."

She pulled him back into a tight hug then, and Kurt stepped away, letting go of Blaine's hand. He crossed gazes with Mr. Anderson, and the man didn't try for a smile with him, but he did nod graciously, and Kurt nodded back, with a decidedly neutral expression.

Kurt walked away from all three them, giving them a private moment, and seeking out his family. He found them in the first place he looked – the dinning room. Finn was flipping through a magazine, and his dad and Carole both looked up from a crossword and a book respectively, anxious looks on their faces. "Well?" his father asked, standing up from his chair.

"It's not great, but it's not too horrible either." Kurt crossed his arms, rocking back on his feet. "Blaine wants to stay 'til later tonight, if that's okay. He says he's going back after dinner, but that might change."

His father was walking out into the kitchen, and Kurt followed, Carole and Finn hot on his heels. When they reached the living room, Blaine was halfway in his mother's embrace, his father still relegated off to the side, isolated.

Mrs. Anderson reached out a hand as Kurt's father stepped into the space, and his dad took it. "I want to thank you, Mr. Hummel, for taking such good care of our son. Better than we did, I'm ashamed to say, though I'm sure you were thinking it."

His dad shook her hand, said nothing in reply to that, only, "You're welcome." It was his way of agreeing without blatantly and rudely saying so, and Kurt stood shoulder to shoulder with him proudly.

She then turned to Kurt, her hand out towards him. "Well, I've heard all about you – enough to fill several books. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Kurt."

Kurt breathed out a laugh as Blaine cringed, protesting with a not all that quiet, "Mom!" She brushed him off, grinning at Kurt. "And might I say that you're just as handsome as my son rapturously described, and that's saying quite a bit, let me assure you."

It may have been over-kill, trying to make things up both to Blaine, and even Kurt to a degree, but he felt warmed by the praise nevertheless, and he had to grin back. "Thank you, Mrs. Anderson."

Her smile faltered as her husband continued being stoically silent, but then he surprised everyone in the room by moving in closer to his family, staring at Kurt as he said, "It would be nice to get to know you more, Kurt. If you would like, you could come to dinner with my family next Saturday. Nothing formal."

His father stiffened at his side, but Kurt was only seeing the way Blaine's eyes lit up with disbelief and hope. Whatever his twisting stomach said about being in the same room with the man who'd broken Blaine so badly, Kurt couldn't resist the expression on his boyfriend's face. "I would love to. That's all right with you, isn't it, dad?"

His father wasn't doing a very good job of hiding his contempt for the man before them, but after giving Kurt a searching look, he nodded. "That's fine, Kurt. You could even stay the night if you wanted."

Kurt was completely taken aback, while Finn let loose a sound of protest. "What? You would never let me and Qu-" Carole nudged Finn into silence, and Kurt watched his father give Mr. Anderson a belligerent stare.

"Kurt and Blaine were perfectly well-behaved last night," his dad said with a falsely casual tone. "So, it would be okay with me if he stayed at your house, provided I knew that he would be _safe._"

Mr. Anderson was a little wide-eyed, and even maybe shamed by his dad's seemingly easy acceptance. Kurt had never seen his father try to upstage someone like this before, and he wasn't sure how to feel about it, though it did amuse him quite a bit. And it also had him wondering how often his father had been sticking his head into his room the night before (and this morning) to be sure that he and Blaine had been 'behaving.'

"That sounds fine to me," Mrs. Anderson broke in, squeezing a dazed-looking Blaine in close to her side. "We'll head out now, and leave you all in peace."

She hugged Blaine one more time, before shooting her husband a look that clearly implied that he follow her. Mr. Anderson and Blaine met eyes, held that gaze for a moment, and then dropped it. A hand came up to rest on Blaine's shoulder, but that was the end of any exchange between Blaine and his father. Carole and Finn said their awkward good-byes, and once they were out the door, a heavy silence reigned.

Kurt walked over to his boyfriend, reclaiming his hand. "Well?"

Blaine looked up at him, eyes wide. "Your dad just said that you could stay the night at my house."

A burst of laughter bubbled up from his chest and erupted forth, and Finn and Carole echoed it. His dad crossed his arms. "Yeah, I did. Don't you make me regret it, Blaine. I figure you need him there to back you up, and I trust him to get you out if things get . . . bad, again. But don't think this is going to be a new habit of mine, and I would really appreciate it if you two wouldn't sleep in the same bed."

Kurt was staring up at the ceiling, willing down his blush, but he was still chuckling. "After all that, and _that's _what you're hung up on?"

Blaine opened his mouth, no sound emerging for second though he regained his bearings quickly. "I'm processing things a little haphazardly right now. And sir, I promise to keep right on treating Kurt with respect, exactly as I've always been."

Burt nodded solemnly before turning to Kurt and was that amusement on his face or what? "And you, Kurt – you better not be pushing Blaine, either." Carole snorted, a hand coming up to her mouth.

Kurt sputtered, "What? What are you –"

Finn looked confused too, but then his eyes were scrutinizing Blaine, widening after a moment. "Oh. Hey, nice one, Kurt!"

Kurt looked towards Blaine, seeking an explanation though his boyfriend looked equally confused, lifting a hand to rest on his neck, and then – _oh. Crap._

"Fine!" Kurt threw up his hands. "I gave my boyfriend a hickey. After two months, dad, we've progressed to exchanging hickeys – shouldn't that reassure you?"

Blaine slapped a hand onto his neck with a comically shocked look on his face, hissing towards Kurt, "I thought you covered it up!"

"You've been touching and rubbing at it for the past ten minutes – _it was covered up until then,_" Kurt said exasperatedly.

"Oh, stop it you two, it's not that big of a deal, Burt's just messing with you." Carole laughed, looping an arm through her husband's. "But just to make him feel better, how about you and Blaine hang around down here with us?"

"Monopoly re-match!" Finn crowed.

Kurt watched Blaine for his reaction – it had been intense, it had been heartbreaking, it had been worrisome and awful. Blaine raised his head, and his smile was broad and real, with barely a hint of sadness. "I'm up for a bit of Monopoly – but I am _not _sitting next to Kurt. He cheats."

"How?" Finn asked, puzzled. "He's never done that with us. I don't think. So, how?"

Blaine realized his mistake too late, but Kurt wasn't embarrassed as he said, with a coy look towards a blushing Blaine. "In ways that really don't affect anyone else, Finn. Don't worry about it."

His father was glancing between Kurt and Blaine suspiciously, but by then Carole was asking for his help in clearing the coffee table so that they could play sitting on the floor, and Finn was bouncing off to grab the board, probably thrilled that no one was demanding he finish his more than likely neglected weekend homework.

Kurt smiled at Blaine, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, breathing out a near silent, "I love you."

He hadn't expected those words to tumble out of his mouth, but once they did, he could only wait nervously for Blaine's reaction – and yet not nervous, because it was the truth. He _loved _Blaine. Not crushed on, not held great affection for, not lusted (well, yes, but not _just_) for – he was in love with Blaine.

Blaine's eyes hadn't widened, and he didn't look shocked at all. He only smiled even more broadly, if that was possible, and his voice was low and thick as he leaned in close and said, "I love you, too."

Kurt's grin was hurting his lips and mouth, and he had to kiss Blaine, so he did. It was a simple press of lips against lips and it felt just as wonderful as any of their deeper, more passionate exchanges.

Kurt pulled away as Finn rushed past them, eager to claim his car piece. Kurt, right at that moment, couldn't care less who got the thimble.

Blaine nuzzled his nose, Kurt giggled, and when they finally sat down (with Blaine rather naively allowing Kurt to sit next to him again), Kurt could only bask in the ridiculously wonderful sensation of being surrounded by people who _loved _him. Including his _boyfriend_.

Of course, this didn't stop him from shamelessly distracting Blaine with a hand on his thigh, pouted lips and casual adjustments of his T-shirt that revealed more skin to his boyfriend's ever darkening gaze. He totally ruled over his family in this particular game, grounding them all into the dust with his hotels on his rightfully claimed properties of Boardwalk and Park Place.

Blaine complained as they put the game board away, but only for as long as it took Kurt to politely excuse them both, head upstairs, and calmly inform Blaine that if it made him feel better, he was more than welcome to give Kurt a matching bruise on his neck. This consolation prize was accepted with great enthusiasm.

Blaine ended up staying the night again, though this time Burt insisted that he take the couch. Kurt knew better than to argue, and he gave his boyfriend a chaste good night kiss under his father's supervision, before heading upstairs to complete his nightly regimen.

As soon as everyone was settled in bed, Kurt received a text: _Call me. It's my turn to sing you a lullaby. xoxo._

Kurt giggled, and called him, and of course, Blaine couldn't sing without risking waking up the others – but he hummed the now quite familiar strains of that song he insisted on associating with Kurt. Kurt hummed along as he began to drift, and Blaine was snoring lightly before Kurt officially joined him, falling fast asleep easily with the sound of his boyfriend's breath next to his ear.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **More "I'm sorry"s directed towards you wonderful folks – I have no excuses, but it's been a tiring couple of weeks, and working full-time after months of only part-time is reacquainting me with my love of sleep :)

Also, the original story ended here, with an epilogue to follow, but I've been thinking of adding one more chapter before the epilogue – the dinner with the Andersons. I have it partially written up in my head, so I think I shall attempt to get it out of my head and up before the epilogue . . .

And once more, thank you so much for being such lovely, lovely people supporting and/or commenting on this story!


	9. Chapter 9

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 9**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Are you trying to get your boyfriend to jump you?"

Kurt felt his jaw drop. He blinked in confusion, staring down at his outfit. He was proud of the ensemble overall: the black jeans were tight, but not overly so, the silvery, battleship gray collared shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, but underneath he had on a gorgeous top of deep crimson with a scoop neck that matched the faint, dark red outline of a Celtic knot pattern on the one side of his gray shirt. His hair was perfect, brushed to one side with a slight swirl, not as teased up as he usually wore it, with not a single lock out of place. It was _classy._

He failed to see how this was all 'jump' worthy.

Brittany tilted her head, causing Rachel to grab it and gently ease it back into a position that allowed her to continue braiding it. "It's a sex outfit. Like, wearing it says you want someone to have sex with you. I could do it, if you want?" She sounded hopeful.

"Girl, you have a boyfriend," Mercedes reminded her.

Brittany nodded. "But if Kurt's gay, I don't think it counts. He said that our kiss didn't count as his first kiss, so that means anything we do doesn't really happen. We could totally have non-sex. I've never had non-sex."

Mercedes rolled her eyes, though her lips were smiling. Rachel was caught between confusion and disconcertion, but she apparently decided to remain mum on the subject. She finished the French braid on one side of Brittany's head and began brushing her hair in order to start the other.

"There is _no_ sex happening," Kurt said emphatically, and he was proud that neither his cheeks or ears were burning as he spoke. Brittany smiled happily up at him, which had him quickly adding, "And no non-sex either. This is a family dinner I'm going to!"

Mercedes chuckled, though eying him critically as she did so. "Okay, baby boy. In that case, lose the skinny jeans – go for those straight-legged black slacks. But keep the top half. You'll still be fine, and Blaine might not mack on you in front of his parents."

Kurt dug into his closet. "Pin-stripped or non? I'm thinking non."

"Non," Mercedes confirmed. "And do up a couple of buttons of that shirt too while you're at it."

Kurt did so, and took the pants off their hanger. He slipped into his bathroom, unbuttoning his jeans and glancing towards the mirror. He used to see only a pale boy, slim, if not skinny, his face an odd combination of little boy and cartoon character.

Somehow, that had changed; currently, he saw bright grey eyes, a body that was perhaps a little more built than he had originally thought, and his behind wasn't too bad, was it? After he'd pulled on the slacks, he checked it out. He smiled and didn't quite like that, but his lips were nicely shaped. He pulled open a drawer, picking out a subtle, shiny lip-gloss the same shade of pink as his lips. Kurt ran light fingertips over his hair, adjusting a couple of locks. Then he smoothed down his shirt and tried a half smile.

Better.

He walked back out. "All right ladies – fabulous without being ostentatious? Toned down but still blatantly fashionable?"

Mercedes shot him two thumbs up, grinning widely. "I love you in your combat boots and oversized sweaters, but I think this is definitely 'dinner with semi-homophobic dad' appropriate." He blew her a kiss, turning to look into his small bedroom mirror.

Rachel finished off the second braid for Brittany, leaning back and resting her hands on the knees of her crossed legs, and her own smile was approving as well. "You've grown up quite a bit, Kurt. You look very handsome. And stylish."

Kurt narrowed his eyes at her reflection, then shifted his eyes over to Mercedes. "You told her."

"Told her what?" Mercedes asked breezily, getting up to pick out a leather jacket for him.

"Do not play at being coy, I _know_ you. And you _told her_."

Mercedes looked up at him, seemingly contrite as she walked over, taking a hand in-between both of hers. "She asked, and she's a good friend. And she was worried about Blaine. C'mon, Kurt."

Kurt took that in, and faced Rachel fully, sighing. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like –"

"No, no, I understand." Rachel bit her lower lip. "And I mean that both ways. I understand your insecurities, Kurt – I was worried about Blaine, and Finn explained what he knew so then I was worried about you too. And Mercedes told me what you told her."

_Ah, Finn_ – his stepbrother had that annoying weakness for the mini-skirt wearing diva, so of course if she asked, he would tell. Finn hadn't demanded explanations after Kurt got home from school the day he and Blaine left together for Dalton. He'd been avoiding the issue altogether until Kurt sat him down after dinner and explained it all. Finn had been quiet until the end.

_"Dude, that's, that's so stupid. How could Blaine's dad just let them do that?"_

_Kurt sighed heavily. "Because he's cowardly. Because he's never bothered to educate himself about homosexuality."_

_Finn stared. "I said one word, and your dad kicked me out of the house."_

_"Finn –"_

_He held up a hand. "I know, Kurt, it's been dealt with to death, dude, and I'm over it. But all I'm saying is that it's . . . sad, that Blaine doesn't have what you have."_

_"What _we_ have," Kurt corrected him with a soft smile. "We."_

_Finn clapped a hand on his shoulder, a grin on his face. "Yeah, we. And speaking of 'we' – uh, well, you, actually – you doin' okay? I mean, this is pretty intense and all . . ."_

_"Yes, Finn, I'm doing okay, better than okay," Kurt replied, touched by Finn's open concern._

_"You sure? You can talk to me, you know – Blaine's talkin' to you . . . so you can talk to me, lean on me if you have to."_

_Kurt's own smile morphed into a grin. "Thank you."_

_"No problem, bro – we're Furt, remember?"_

_Kurt winced. "Yes, I remember. Finn, can we reconsider the fusion name? How about 'Kinn'?"_

_"But that's already a real word! Uncool, man. Hey, what if we change our last names to 'Hudmel'? Think Burt and mom would be on board with that?"_

_Kurt groaned and threw a pillow at him. Which had Finn throwing one back. And things quickly escalated from there._

Mercedes had been a little more _vocal_, when she came over the next day, ready for her debriefing, so to speak. When it came to Blaine's father and the Linvilles, she used words Kurt had only ever heard in R-rated films, and she used them more than a few times. However, she'd also uttered a couple when she _demanded_ that Kurt start from the beginning – the very beginning being that horrendous conversation with his father a couple of weeks back. When he got to the conversations with Blaine about his self-image issues, Mercedes gaped soundlessly at him for a few minutes, before hauling back and smacking him hard enough to leave a distinctive mark on his shoulder.

_"Ow! Holy hell, Mercedes!"_

_"I don't care, shut up!" She threw her hands up in the air. "You, you're you. You're this . . . incredible-fashionista-pretty-male-model type, but not completely because you are so not that kind of airhead, and with the exception of letting Coach Sylvester bully you into that stupid diet –"_

_"Hey, we swore to never mention that period of stupidity –"_

_"You've always been confident enough to wear and look however you wanted to look!"_

_Kurt leaned back again his headboard, rubbing at his stinging shoulder. "That's because I am amazing at making spectacular outfits. In fact, my superior skill at combining and coordinating various colours and patterns is a fact of nature. My sense of self when it comes to my general appearance . . . not so highly thought of."_

_Mercedes grabbed one his hands. "How? How can you think that when you're so sure of–"_

_"Mercedes." Kurt pressed his forehead against hers. "You know you're one of the most kick-ass divas ever – if not the future, sober Whitney Houston – but even you have doubts about yourself, right? Which, by the way, you shouldn't, because you are the most gorgeous human being I know."_

_She inhaled deeply at that, eyes softening. "I think you're one of the cutest guys I know, Kurt – it wasn't only for your sweet personality, and Quinn and Santana's bitch moves, that I got a crush on you."_

_"I'm starting to get that . . . you really meant it when you called me a sexy bitch, didn't you?"_

_Mercedes bit her lip, turning away before cocking her head back towards him. "Every time. Except that time with the fluffy white polar bear sweater. That was me being sarcastic."_

_Kurt laughed for five minutes straight, Mercedes joining in while beaming up at him. In the quiet that followed, she rolled over onto her side, putting her head on his shoulder – his still stinging shoulder. "Ow."_

_"Oh, sorry." She sat up, placing a warm hand on his injured limb. "Listen, I don't know if I like the idea of you and your boy at this dinner thing."_

_"I didn't either, but I think it'll be good for Blaine, no matter what happens. They've never talked about this directly, until what I just told you. If I go to this dinner, there's no going back from this. He can't pretend that I don't exist. I'm thinking of wearing the corset."_

_Mercedes shook her head. "No, no. You gotta go classy – make Anderson Senior see you for you, not your high fashion sense."_

_Kurt considered it. "You may be right. You need to come over on Saturday, make sure I'm working the right look for the occasion."_

_"You got it, baby – Rachel's been asking about you. I think Finn told her a little about what happened."_

_"Call her on over – and Brittany too. She keeps sending my texts, requesting a manicure and duck fat. So I'm going to give her one. The first one, that is."_

_Mercedes pouted up at him. He winked. "You too, boo. And definitely Rachel." Her smile came back with a vengeance, and they settled down comfortably against each other, basking in their closeness._

_"You really think I'm the most gorgeous girl you know?" Mercedes asked with feigned disinterest, though her eyes were soft and vulnerable._

_"You are second to only one person," Kurt said with utmost sincerity, kissing her temple once, and staring straight into her beautiful brown eyes. "And she only lives on in pictures and up here." Kurt tapped his head, his lips pressing together before twisting upwards into a smile. Mercedes laughed disbelievingly before pulling him into a crushing hug._

Mercedes pulled him into another hug right then, careful to not wrinkle his shirt in any way, and keeping away from his perfectly coiffed hair. "You're going to do fine, Kurt. You just make sure that those people know how damn lucky Blaine is – you make his dad see _you_."

"And feel free to bandy about my name and my fathers' connection to the ACLU," Rachel added, standing on his other side, a stern expression on her face.

"And if that doesn't work, you could always change into the jeans and have sex with them," Brittany suggested, _not_ helpfully.

Kurt detached himself from his two girls, sitting next to Brittany on his bed. "Listen, sweetie, we've talked about this before – you really shouldn't be using sex as a means of communication, barter or replacement for sleep." He had once had concerns that Brittany really thought that sex was instrumental to her popularity and happiness, but the truth was that she viewed it like pretty much any other daily habitual activity. He didn't know whether that was better or worse, but he was working on breaking the habit. Kurt thought the relationship with Artie was helping as well, for however long that would last.

Brittany smiled understandingly him, kissing him on the nose. "I know. And I've been getting loads more rest now that I've been doing what you told me. So has Lord Tubbington."

Kurt's mind drew a screaming blank at this announcement, but thankfully she cleared that up right away. "He never sleeps when I'm having sex – it's a weird thing with him, but now we're both sleeping more and you know what happened yesterday? Lord Tubbington actually had enough energy to play fetch with me – and I understood my algebra homework! I figured out you don't need to make _sentences_ with the letters, you need to turn them into _numbers_!"

"See? I told you you'd have more energy." Kurt hugged her. "I'm happy for Lord Tubbington too, by the way."

Brittany hugged him back, just as Kurt's phone buzzed on his nightstand. Mercedes swooped in and answered it.

"Hey Blaine!" Mercedes greeted cheerfully. "Yeah, me, Rachel and Brittany."

"Hello, Blaine!" Rachel called, handing Kurt the leather jacket Mercedes had decided upon.

Kurt could faintly hear Blaine laughing out a 'hi'. Mercedes was turning away as she spoke, digging into Kurt's closet for something, "Ten minutes? Perfect . . . yeah, he's ready, I'm just picking out his shoes . . . no, Blaine, I won't go with those black boots that make you look shorter than you are." She shot Kurt a teasing grin, and rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh. Okay. Here, I'll pass you to him."

Kurt stood up to take the phone from Mercedes as she resumed digging through his shoe racks. "I want to state once again, that I do find it a little ridiculous for you to be driving over here when I could have just as easily driven there – and back tomorrow. Two trips, as opposed to your _four_."

Blaine laughed, in direct contradiction with the soft, serious tone he spoke in afterwards. "I'll gladly pay the extra gas money, Kurt, to spend the extra time with you. That's my really sad excuse for this."

Kurt had to face away from his girls, because he knew that his goofy lovestruck expression would pretty much guarantee a chorus of 'awww's, followed by merciless mocking.

"Are you trying to score more kisses out of me? Because I think we both know I'm fairly easy," he said lowly, trying to muffle his words with a hand. He never dreamed he'd ever be at ease with saying stuff like that, but it was fun and exciting, and Blaine was being rather quiet now, what was going on?

There was more silence, then a stuttered, "T-that's true – but then again, so am I. Seriously, all you have to do is look at me, or you know, talk as if you just got out of bed, all quiet and kinda raspy . . ."

Kurt felt his lips parting in surprise, and more than anything he wanted to explore this newfound inclination Blaine had for his . . . what, whispering? His _bedroom_ voice? And who even knew that he had one? But with Blaine behind the wheel of a car, and on his way to pick him up for what was sure to be an outrageously awkward (if not painful) time at his parents' house, it most definitely was _not _the best time to do so. He filed this away for later consideration (and experimentation), and spoke up in his normal tone. "I accept your reasons, Blaine Anderson. And we'll discuss that other thing you mentioned some other time in greater detail."

Blaine groaned, though he ruined the effect by laughing at the end of it. "I foresee a lot of teasing in my future – am I right?"

"I shall neither confirm or deny," Kurt said rather smugly. "But it's very likely, yes."

The phone was suddenly snatched from his hands as Mercedes shoved a pair of subtle, slate gray leather dress shoes at him. Rachel was chattering away to Blaine. "Kurt needs to finish getting ready . . . Of course . . ."

Kurt strained his hearing, trying to catch Blaine's end of the conversation, but Mercedes was pushing him down on his bed, forcing him to comply with her wishes. By the time he was done with his socks and shoes, Rachel had hung up, and was handing him back his phone. "He'll be here any minute now. Oooh, you look _really_ good."

Kurt ran both hands down his thighs, standing up and adjusting every button and crease. "Yes I do, but this time I owe it to you ladies – anxiety is not conducive to good fashion choices."

Brittany was standing next to him now, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I think Blaine's parents would be stupid not to like you – you're like the best boyfriend anyone could have and if you ever went back to being not-gay, I would totally break up with Artie for you."

Kurt grinned at her. "You're an absolute darling, Brittany, but gay is the only way for me. And Blaine's my guy."

Brittany shrugged. "I could date him too – but first I'd need to find out if he's as good a kisser as you."

"Oh, take it from me, he's a _great_ kisser," Rachel enthused, though she was soon recoiling at the distinctly unimpressed look both Kurt and Mercedes levelled her with. "But, um, then again, I was fairly smashed at the time and so was –"

The doorbell rang. Kurt felt the smile stretch his lips until the muscles in his face protested, but he couldn't help it. The girls raced down ahead of him to greet Blaine. Kurt took the stairs at a far more leisurely pace, allowing them time to hug and gush over his boyfriend (as well as preventing himself from tripping and ruining his currently flawless look). Blaine was hidden almost completely by Brittany, Mercedes and Rachel as they crowded him and said their totally over-the-top hellos.

Kurt waited at the foot of the stairs, smiling to himself as Blaine hugged them each in turn, before he finally broke away to greet Kurt – and ended up tripping over his tongue as he stared, slack-jawed for a few moments.

"Uh, wow . . . that is a really . . . wow-look on you."

Kurt arched an eyebrow, one hand resting on his hip, and strode to Blaine with a bit of catwalk in his stride.

"Boyfriend-approved?"

"Are you kidding? _World-approved_ – there is no one on the planet that could not see how incredible you look right now." Blaine snagged one of Kurt's hands as he spoke. Kurt smiled through the pleasant warmth on his face; Blaine had been lavishing him with lovely, sweet (overly cliché, or at times cheesy and ridiculous) compliments all week. He texted them, whispered them in Kurt's ear in the rush between classes, mumbled them against Kurt's lips as they sneaked kisses in hidden corners and empty classrooms (mostly thanks to the Warblers and their on-going mission to keep meetings PDA free).

Blaine was looking pretty sharp himself – he wore pressed charcoal slacks and a dark blue/green v-neck shirt that somehow brought out the lighter shades in his hazel eyes. His hair wasn't as restrained as Kurt's, allowing it to curl enticingly, making Kurt's fingers twitch. He gave it all a mental thumbs up.

Kurt tugged him in a little closer in order press their shoulder's together, and made sure to keep a tight grip on his hand – Blaine was squeezing his fingers, and Kurt could pick out the hints of anxiety in his otherwise happy expression. Mercedes and Rachel were exchanging glances, and Brittany was cocking her head, opening her mouth to likely ask something to do with sex, and Kurt did not want to deal with that right now, so he quickly interrupted her. "Blaine and I should be heading out now – thank you guys so much for being my fashion consultants."

Mercedes grinned. "It was nice to be in control of your wardrobe for once. You go on and rock this dinner – both of you." And in her hands she was holding Kurt's overnight pack. He blinked, having not even seen her grab it on their way down the stairs. He took it from her, hugging her and kissing her cheek as he did so.

"You're too damn fabulous for words, Mercedes Jones," Kurt murmured into her hair.

"Pfft, I know that," she said cockily, though her arms tightened around him. She kissed his cheek tenderly, lingering and whispered a muted, "Call me if you need to, baby – _whenever_, I don't care if it's three am."

Rachel and Brittany were no less affectionate with their hugs and well wishes, but it was Mercedes that Kurt kept watching as they pulled away from the driveway. His dad would be home from the garage soon, and he'd give them all rides home, and not long after that, Finn would be arriving back from his basketball date with Sam, Mike and Puck ("Dude, do _not_ call it a '_date_'!" "_Dude_, do not call me _dude._").

He held Mercedes' gaze until Blaine had fully pulled out of the driveway and started to head off of Kurt's street.

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, let loose a slow exhale, and made sure to hold onto that warm, soothing sensation that was the care and love of his girlfriends and his boyfriend. He shot Blaine a smile as Blaine glanced at him, taking one hand off the wheel in order to grab onto Kurt's hand. It was the exact reverse of how they had driven from the park that late night a week ago, and it was that, oddly enough, that soothed away the last of Kurt's nerves.

"My mom set up a cot for you in my room – and we can head up there as soon as we get home. She said dinner probably won't be ready until seven."

Kurt noted that it was almost five o'clock – they'd get to Blaine's house with at least a half hour to spare before dinner. Kurt didn't know whether to allude to all the fun times that could be had in half an hour (and a large part of him had instantly jumped to that conclusion and wasn't Blaine just doing _wonders_ for all his hang ups about physical intimacy?), and another side of him was cringing at the idea of making out with Blaine's father's disapproval hanging over their heads. He'd have to wait and see what the atmosphere was like.

"Wow," he said an hour and a half later. Blaine was driving below ten miles an hour – they were basically crawling up the driveway.

" 'Wow'?" Blaine asked curiously. "It's not that . . . I realize that it's bigger than the houses on your block, but it isn't exactly a mansion."

"I know," Kurt said, leaning forward to have a closer look as they crept along. "That's part of my surprise – it's rather more conservative than I was expecting. Very pretty, and you have an obscene amount of backyard and front yard. Although that may be an illusion based on how _slow_ we're going."

Blaine didn't speed up – in fact, he put the breaks on and turned to face Kurt, his face plainly displaying his worry and frustration. "Kurt, listen – it's amazing, that you're willing to do this for me, but I don't want to put you through anything –"

"Blaine, who are you talking to? Some random stranger on the street?" Kurt squeezed his hand. "This is _your_ _boyfriend_. And c'mon, having been thrown in dumpsters and –"

"Exactly. You've been through enough. You don't deserve any more. Especially from my father."

Kurt leaned across the middle divide, unbuckling his seatbelt one-handed and kissing Blaine, a lengthy press of lips, firm and tender both. After untold minutes he pulled back, smiling reassuringly, his hands resting on either side of Blaine's face. "It's going to be fine – _we_ can handle it. And I promise much making out later tonight. In fact, if this does end up being awful beyond telling, I may even let you have a pity grope."

Blaine laughed, his eyes clearing and one of his hands reaching up to cover Kurt's. "Really? What would constitute 'awful' here? Because I have to say, you've suddenly made the entire prospect of this dinner far more tolerable. A win-win situation, if you will."

Kurt rolled his eyes, reclining back in his seat and withdrawing all physical contact. "It doesn't count if you throw yourself on the grenade, Blaine."

Blaine's gaze dropped rather obviously to Kurt's lap and back up again, his eyebrows waggling ridiculously. "Above or under the clothes?"

Kurt shot him a lofty, cool look, though he knew there was that annoying pink colour blossoming on his cheeks, belying his calm manner. "We can discuss that later tonight."

"Hm, can we maybe throw in some shirtless action?" Blaine asked, bouncing a little, and it was both endearing and alarming how suddenly into the whole scenario his boyfriend was.

"Oh my God, you're actually looking forward to this now, aren't you?"

Blaine's eyebrows did the waggling thing again, and Kurt opened his mouth to say something but decided on simply shaking his head and muttering, "So depraved."

"Only because my boyfriend is so hot and offering to let me cop a feel," Blaine sing-songed, much more chipper than he had been only minutes ago. Kurt wasn't entirely certain Blaine was as carefree as he was acting, but he let it go – if he could act the part, then he was at least partially restored. They drove the rest of the way up to Blaine's house at a normal speed, and in no time at all they were parking and climbing out of the car within the Anderson garage. Blaine took Kurt's overnight bag for him, hitching it over his shoulders.

Blaine paused in front of the door that led into the house, turning to look at Kurt with his hazel eyes deep and intense. "Just for the record: I love you."

The brilliant smile Kurt gave him in return was automatic, instinctual at hearing those words. "I love you too."

And that was it – Blaine was leading him into his house, pausing to wipe his shoes on a mat by the door. They walked out of the short hallway they were currently in, to the kitchen, where Mrs. Anderson was flitting about, checking on whatever was in the oven, and stirring a pot on the stove. There were fresh vegetables sliced on a cutting board and a giant salad bowl next to it. Kurt inhaled, the delicious aroma of spices and chicken tickling his nose. He had been nervous enough to not feel hungry throughout the day but he might actually be able to down a few bites based on these wonderful smells.

"Hi mom," Blaine said, a content look stealing across his tense features.

Mrs. Anderson jumped a little, glancing up from her pot of . . . something. She smiled widely, replacing the lid and coming around the kitchen island. "Hi sweetheart. Kurt! So good to see you!" She hugged him briefly, brushing a light kiss on his cheek.

When she pulled away, Blaine grabbed Kurt's hand again, also inhaling deeply of his mother's cooking, and asking, "So, what's on the menu?"

She was walking back over to her pot. "Some sautéed veggies, asparagus in cream of mushroom, roasted chicken, baked and mashed potatoes and oh, it's good you're here, because I wanted to know Kurt, would you prefer a garden salad, Greek salad, or Caesar?"

Kurt's mouth parted as he heard her rattle off their meal for the evening – it sounded amazing. It also sounded like several pounds worth of extra weight that would go either to his hips or his belly. But did it ever sound good to his empty stomach, and he definitely didn't consider weight gain a concern worthy of his attention this evening. "Garden salad, if it's not too much trouble."

She waved vaguely over her shoulder. "No trouble at all – you two head on up to Blaine's room, get settled. I'll call you when food's ready."

Kurt waited for Blaine to lead him to his bedroom, but his boyfriend hesitated, staring at his mother's back as she chopped up some lettuce, humming under her breath. "Mom? Where's . . . where's dad?"

She didn't stop cutting, but she did slow down for a moment. "He's in his study, finishing off some paperwork. He said he'd be done by dinner – he promised me."

Blaine nodded and Kurt did his best to interpret the empty spaces between these words: _your father is hiding until the last possible second, but I made damn sure that he'd suck it up and face you and your boyfriend when the time came. _Watching Blaine's impassive face, Kurt deemed his translation an accurate one – there was a brief flare of anger and disappointment in Blaine's eyes. Kurt hadn't expected Mr. Anderson to be at the door, ready and willing to greet them with a smile and a song – but apparently Blaine had wanted his father to put in an appearance before they sat down to eat.

Kurt tugged his hand, Blaine turning to look at him, already weary. Kurt tried for a smile and tilted his head, indicating that stairs. "Come on – I'm eager to see the dwelling place of one Blaine Warbler. Be prepared – being my boyfriend will not spare you from my wrath if I find cowboy wallpaper on the walls, or shaggy rugs that should have died off when the 70s did."

There was a muffled laugh from Blaine's mother and the chopping resumed its swift pace. Blaine rolled his eyes (a lot like Kurt did when he was unimpressed, and it made his smile widen), leading Kurt up to the second floor.

Blaine's room was in the middle of the hall, a few other doors closed and further down and across from his. When he opened the door, fidgeting nervously, Kurt kissed his cheek and stepped in. The room was _big_. It was about another half a room larger than Kurt's parents' master bedroom, with its own bathroom. It was also quite tastefully decorated – deep and warm colours that weren't to Kurt's personal tastes, but very nice and well coordinated all the same. And if things were a little messy, it wasn't too noticeable, simply because the room was so large; Kurt had been living with Finn for a while, so his threshold for mess was now much higher than it had been in the past.

Then he saw the bed, and his first thought was rather childish: _Oh wow I want to jump on that, like right now_. It was monstrous. Kurt had seen king-sized beds before, but for whatever reason, this specific one seemed ridiculously _huge_ and spectacularly comfy. He resisted the urge to take a flying leap face first onto it, and instead focused on Blaine, who was standing, awaiting Kurt's judgement with a raised eyebrow. Kurt gave him a solemn nod. "This room is Kurt Hummel-approved."

Blaine grinned as he rested Kurt's bag against his dresser. "Perfect."

"I especially approve of this bed."

"Is that so?"

Kurt wasn't imagining the flirty tone, but he chose to ignore it, moving to sit primly on the edge of the aforementioned bed. He crossed his legs and resting his folded hands on one knee. "Our agreement was for _after_ dinner, Blaine. You are not allowed to mess up the ensemble." He gestured at his outfit and hair.

Blaine sighed, his shoulders dropping. "Fine. I figured you would say that."

Kurt gave him a genuine, not at all haughty smile. "I brought extra hairspray – after we eat, you can mess up my hair to your heart's content."

Blaine fell onto the bed next to him, his arms resting listlessly on his legs, his head hanging. "Assuming you still want to let me touch you after my father –"

"After your father, what? Blaine, your father isn't Gerard Linville. He's just . . . he's ignorant but willing to change. For you. Just wait, okay? Nothing's happened yet."

Blaine glanced at him from his hunched position, one corner of his mouth lifting as he said in a superior tone, "Your endless optimism is both encouraging and annoying."

"I find your honesty sweet and patronizing," Kurt sallied back. "Also, those do not sound like the words of a boyfriend hoping to get some . . . action, later."

Blaine's smile bloomed fully then, and he leaned in, stealing a short, chaste kiss, lips ghosting over Kurt's cheek before he pulled back. "How did I get so damn lucky?"

"You see? Give thanks to homophobia, otherwise I wouldn't have been so thoroughly irritated by my gleemates and sent to spy on you." Kurt leaned in, touching his shoulder to Blaine's. "And your father's ignorance got us a night together, relatively unsupervised in your room."

"That is a new and slightly disturbing way of looking at the glass half-full," Blaine said, grinning slightly.

Kurt shrugged. "A little gallows humour never hurt anyone – unless they were actually heading towards the gallows, which we are _not_!" He hurriedly added that last bit. Blaine laughed, shaking his head, and Kurt was relieved to see some of the darkness receding, his eyes glinting like they normally did – happy and knowing, even when he was as lost and insecure as Kurt. Knowing all of Blaine's imperfections, understanding that the other boy suffered under his own anxieties and troubles, filled Kurt with this inexplicable tenderness and _love_. He stole his own quick kiss, and then glanced over to see the cot set up next to the bed. He couldn't help the pout. "You know, that cot is so close I might as well be in bed with you."

Blaine looked back over his own shoulder. "Yeah . . . maybe when my parents have gone to bed we can do something about that."

"I don't know – I think your mother will be willing to tread where you father wouldn't – if only to prove to my dad that she's a responsible parent." Blaine looked from the cot to Kurt, and back, before chuckling to himself. Kurt pushed him. "What?"

"I saw the hearts in your eyes when you saw my bed – you can have it, for tonight. I've got no problems sleeping in the cot. Particularly when, as you've pointed out, it's close enough to be an extension of the bed."

Kurt had to restrain himself from clapping his hands and flinging himself backwards onto the (verging on obscene) mountain of pillows near the headboard. "Really? Oh, thank you! Wait . . . is this some kind of bribe?"

Blaine's face took on that faux-innocent expression that Kurt found amusing and so transparent. "Absolutely not. I'm only being a kind and considerate boyfriend."

"Right. What if I told you that you were guaranteed the make-out and the over-the-shirt groping regardless of what happens tonight?"

"Then I'd say take the floor, you tease." Blaine ducked as soon as he said it, laughing when Kurt punched him in the arm. "Hey ow! Geez, you've been roughhousing with Finn _way_ too much. That was a mean punch!"

Kurt's eyebrows practically hit his hairline. "Oh come on, that was barely a smack, do not whine. And don't push me, Anderson – that mountainous brother of mine has been thoroughly trounced on more than one occasion. If I can take him on, imagine what I can do to you."

"Oh, I've been imagining." This was said with a leer and Kurt had to hit him again. When Blaine yowled in protest, and reached for his hair threateningly, Kurt shrieked out a truce and leapt off the bed before those curled fingers could ruin his masterpiece.

"Ahem, boys?" Kurt turned to see Mrs. Anderson posed in the doorway, laughter in her eyes. "Dinner's ready, if you two don't mind heading on down now."

Blaine nodded. "Thanks, mom." She nodded back and disappeared, leaving the door open for them. Blaine dropped his hands, wiping his palms on his thighs. Kurt found a mirror just off his door, and he examined himself in it as Blaine wrapped his arms around him from behind. "You're perfect. And my mom already loves you."

"Yes, but I'm going to make a damn good impression on your dad too – even if he decides to hate me, at least there will be nothing he can say about my presentation."

Blaine kissed his neck lingeringly, and Kurt had to turn within the circle of Blaine's arms and kiss his lips soundly, at least once, before they went downstairs into the lions' den. Blaine allowed him to deepen the kiss for a spare few moments before he broke it off. He was looking happy and relaxed until his eyes fell on something behind Kurt, his expression shuttering and going blank.

Kurt knew what he would he see, but he turned around anyway, and sure enough, there was Anderson Senior, mouth parted in surprise, and Kurt could pick out a bit of disgust in the way his lips twisted not soon after. He dropped his son's gaze and left to march down the stairs without saying a word.

Kurt faced his boyfriend, forcing Blaine to look at him with one hand tight around his, and the other grasping one side of his face. "Let's do this – he loves you, he's trying – this is just the first step of many."

"Doesn't mean it's not going to suck," Blaine said wearily. "But yeah, Kurt." A kiss followed that, swift but intense. "Let's go."

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dinner began with some easy conversation – mostly to do with passing the plates of food around, polite inquiries relating to portion sizes and personal tastes. Once everyone was served, however, it was Mrs. Anderson who took charge, doing her best to keep her son and his boyfriend comfortable. Kurt respected the hell out of her for it, and it seemed like Blaine was easing into it, ignoring his father's one-word answers to questions and his inability to meet either Blaine or Kurt's eyes from across the table.

Actually, Blaine was far happier than Kurt expected – than Kurt knew he had been only minutes before, upstairs in his room – but then there was the touching. Blaine kept . . . _touching:_ brushing non-existent crumbs off Kurt's shirt, leaning in when he was talking and very obviously bracing himself on Kurt's thigh, being overly thankful whenever Kurt passed him a tray or plate, kissing his cheek lightly. It was distracting Kurt, making him feel tense, and some of the key points of conversation he wanted to bring up were lost as Blaine swiped a bit of salad dressing from the corner of Kurt's mouth. Mrs. Anderson didn't comment on it, but she locked eyes with Kurt and she was definitely noticing it.

"This was so delicious Mrs. Anderson, thank you!" Kurt said brightly as they finished off the main meal. Blaine's hand had been inching towards his own for the umpteenth time that night, but he yanked it off the table before his boyfriend could make contact. He'd just been adjusting Kurt's collar, claiming it was crooked – which it most certainly wasn't. Kurt was fed up – Mr. Anderson looked vaguely sick and this wasn't helping his situation, not at _all_. He didn't think his boyfriend had it in him to be this petty and immature, and Kurt wasn't going to stand for it.

"Thank you, Kurt, for being such delightful company – and Blaine's told me all about your cooking skills, so your praise is doubly appreciated."

Kurt waved off that compliment. "It's really not that much to write home about – I had to learn to cook for my dad and his new diet, and it sort of grew from there. And in repayment for this meal, let Blaine and I clear the table for you and serve up dessert."

He held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary, and she nodded, darting a quick look at her son, and giving silent permission to Kurt. He was proud of himself for becoming so rapidly fluent in the non-verbal communication that was the Anderson family dialect, but he didn't let any warm, fuzzy feelings from that accomplishment distract him. Grabbing plates and cutlery along with Blaine, he led the way into the kitchen, which was thankfully partially closed off from the dinning room they had been sitting in (there was a second, less formal dinning area within the kitchen).

"Okay, Kurt, what was that?" Blaine asked as he dumped the plates in the sink, crossing his arms.

"What was what? What was me trying to get you alone?" Kurt asked, crossing his arms as well, narrowing his eyes at Blaine. "What is up with you trying to all but fondle me in front of your _father_?"

Blaine's face twisted into a distinctly unpleasant expression. "That was me making sure he understood the full scope of what his son is. He thinks I'm something_ wrong_, Kurt – his own son –"

"And what, you think that acting like you want to serve me up as dessert is going to change that?" Kurt hissed, low and angry. "Did you think to consult me about this plan? You know what I'm like when it comes to physical things, Blaine – I'm getting better, but having you behave like this in front of your _parents_ is not really helping change my attitudes here."

Blaine winced. "I, I'm sorry, Kurt – it wasn't something I was seriously considering until I saw his face when we were kissing. It hurt, damnit – I just wanted . . . I don't even know – to hurt him back, or rub his face in it, or make him understand, or hell, all of the above!" He threw his hands up in the air, and the vengeful, sullen expression was gone as he looked at Kurt with nothing but sincere apology in his eyes. "I'm so, so sorry."

Kurt inhaled deeply, letting go of his anger and frustration with Blaine. "You know, all you're doing is showing him that this, this that we have? Is based on pure hormones. And your behaviour . . . Blaine – I'm on your side when it comes to being out and proud, but how does . . . what _that_ was, help you with your dad?"

Blaine opened his mouth, then closed it, and then he sagged, leaning back against the counter behind him, sighing. "It doesn't. You're right. I'm . . . I was angry, and fed-up, and I wanted him to feel as uncomfortable and out of place in his own home as _he's_ been making me feel."

Kurt sighed too. "I understand. Really – sometimes you hold back when you _really_ shouldn't, and other times you leap head first without . . ." Kurt breathed in and out slowly. He turned to the covered cheesecake, picking up the large knife next to it and carefully slicing out four pieces. "I wanted this dinner to go well, too, you know – but I was prepared for it to be an awkward mess. I didn't think it would be _you_ though, making it that way."

Blaine picked up the freshly washed strawberries and blueberries, placing a few on each small plate. "What did _you_ want to happen tonight then?"

Kurt contemplated the chocolate sauce before deciding he'd bring it out and let each person drizzle as much as they wanted on top of their dessert. He put it down and faced Blaine, who was standing close – within arm's length – but maintaining a cautious distance at the same time.

"I wanted to show your dad that we're a couple – a couple with likes and dislikes, that we agree on some things, but not on others – such as the superiority of _Wicked_ over _West Side Story_." Blaine snorted at that but tilted his head, indicating that Kurt continue. "I wanted to talk about the shop, maybe break some of your father's stereotypes by asking him about the car you two fixed up. I wanted as normal an evening as we could have."

"And I ruined it, is what you're saying," Blaine said quietly, regretfully, shamefaced and hunching in himself. "I'm such a moron."

"No, no you're not – if you had _actually_ wanted to be that touchy-feely, you'd get no argument from me." Kurt smiled at him, his tone gentle and loving. "Maybe I'm not too comfortable with blatant PDAs yet, but you know how much easier that's been getting for me – the Warblers know it too, they can bear witness." Both of them grinned momentarily, before Kurt's smiled faded and Blaine's along with it. "But the reason why I'm so annoyed by it is because you really didn't mean it, Blaine – it was all show, all to upset your father, and you were just using me."

"Kurt . . ." Blaine trailed off, clearly not knowing what to say.

"This whole thing with your dad – he thinks you can _choose_ who you like, and that it's all about physical urges, and that ultimately there's some right girl out there waiting for you. And hey, you did make out with Rachel," Kurt pointed out, holding back a smile as Blaine moaned.

"Thanks ever so much for reminding me."

"It happened, Blaine – I mean . . ." He felt his face heat up as he thought of the words, but he pushed them out anyway. "When drunk – a mouth or hand feel practically the same whether boy or girl, right? It feels just as good? Or near enough, anyways, from what little I know," he rushed to say, cheeks flaming.

Blaine's mouth dropped open in shock and his own face flushed a little. "_Kurt_."

"But being gay – being born the way we are – it doesn't just mean that we think a six-pack and nice biceps are better than . . . girl parts. It also means that the only real relationships we can have are with men." Kurt leaned in closer, his gaze never wavering from Blaine's. "Because ultimately it's not about who you can have sex with – it's about who you can fall in love with."

"And that's what you wanted to show my dad," Blaine breathed out, eyes wide and gazing at Kurt with _so much_ in them – he couldn't pick out any one emotion easily, but there was love amongst the guilt, the shame, the self-reproach, and Kurt had to hug him. He wrapped his arms around Blaine, buried his face in his neck as Blaine did the same to his shoulder.

"Blaine? Kurt?"

Kurt didn't let Blaine jump away at the sound of his father's voice. Kurt leaned back far enough to lift his head and look towards Mr. Anderson, but he kept his arms tight around Blaine's body, and while Blaine had dropped his in surprise, those hands crept up again and rested tentatively on his lower back. His face was pink but he held onto Kurt, waiting.

"Sorry for taking so long, Mr. Anderson," Kurt said as calmly as he could manage. "We'll be right out."

The man hesitated a moment, finally looking at his son full on for the first time all evening. He turned to leave, stopped, and then turned back, walking towards them, taking in a deep breath, "I need to say something, to both of you, and I would appreciate it if you gave me my time to speak without interruption."

Kurt spared Blaine a quick glance before nodding in unison with his boyfriend as they separated, though Kurt kept a firm grip on one of Blaine's hands.

Mr. Anderson locked gazes with Blaine, "I'm not going to run away Blaine – and I'm not going to be disgusted or angry by anything you do. I hurt you, and I will regret that always, but don't try to push me away for it – especially like this. It's not going to work. I love you too much for that."

Blaine blinked, startled. Kurt worked hard at keeping his expression blank, his default around Blaine's father, but he was feeling a measure of surprise himself.

Mr. Anderson looked at their joined hands, his own face carefully devoid of expression. Kurt couldn't help but compare his boyfriend's father to his own.

Burt Hummel never looked on Blaine and Kurt with anything other than approval – at times exasperation, and other times, vaguely annoyed or threateningly protective, but nothing that would indicate he was disturbed by what he was seeing. Mr. Anderson wasn't there yet – he had to guard his expression, because Kurt could plainly see in his eyes that his and Blaine's open affection was overwhelming him. However, it was a start – it was what Kurt had hoped for; Mr. Anderson meant every word – for Blaine, he would take that first step toward acceptance.

"If you really wanted me to be put off, you should have brought home a boyfriend who was less polite, more of a slob, and generally unworthy of you." A smile, tentative and brief, crossed his lips.

Kurt swallowed and gaped at the man, his carefully constructed indifference falling away. A real, honest-to-goodness smile tugged Mr. Anderson's lips upwards. Kurt felt the beginnings of one twitch his own mouth. Blaine still appeared to be in shock.

"Hey, boys – you better not be eating that cheesecake in there!"

Mrs. Anderson's teasing – and slightly nervous – call broke the spell that had fallen over the kitchen's occupants. Kurt let go of Blaine's hand to pick up two plates of cheesecake. He offered them both to Blaine's father. "Thank you, sir."

"Thank you, Kurt." He turned and walked back into the dining room.

Kurt went to grab the chocolate sauce, but Blaine stopped him with a hand on his arm. Kurt looked into those wide eyes that were full of hope and awe, and said what was probably the most inappropriate thing he could've said after a moment like that.

"So, you're not likely to need much groping after that, right?"

Blaine blinked, his jaw dropping _again_. Kurt felt his own mouth fall open, his eyes shutting as he groaned to himself. A moment later, Blaine's laughter filled the kitchen, and Kurt was scurrying out to the dining room before his boyfriend could say or do anything that would make it impossible for him to be able to sit in the other room with Blaine's parents without wanting to die from embarrassment.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dessert passed by with far less tension – and Mr. Anderson even joined in on the conversation once or twice. Blaine no longer touched Kurt at every turn, though he did grasp Kurt's hand at one point, during the story about Gap Attack, telling both his parents about his humiliation with a broad grin. Kurt shook his head at that, but it got a genuine laugh out of both Andersons. Blaine's mother was shaking her head and commiserating with Kurt about Blaine's general shamelessness and his obliviousness.

Mr. Anderson turned to Kurt with a slightly uncomfortable, but sympathetic expression. "I apologize on behalf of my son – he gets the cluelessness from me. It took me over a year to figure out what I was feeling for Belinda – and that was with me being at her beck and call whenever she needed me, and taking her out to so-called 'friendly' dinners."

Kurt sighed long-sufferingly, while Blaine protested this. Shortly following that, Mr. Anderson did close off a little when Blaine described his epiphany about Kurt in overly loving detail, but all in all, it was better than Kurt could have hoped for, and far less of a punishment than he'd expected.

When they were both excused from the table, it was late, and Mrs. Anderson took over once again, warning them with a kind but stern tone, "I want one of you on the bed, the other on the cot – I will be checking. If you two don't think you can handle it, one of the guestrooms is prepped and waiting."

They nodded and Kurt thanked her again for the lovely meal – he shook hands with Mr. Anderson, and thanked him gravely. The man couldn't quite meet his eyes – likely the idea of his son and his boyfriend, alone, in the bedroom, was causing him some issue, but his handshake was firm, and he managed yet another smile for Blaine and a half-hug.

Blaine was dizzyingly happy as they ascended the steps, and it made Kurt equally happy for him. When they got through the bedroom door, his boyfriend all but tackled Kurt in an enthusiastic hug, burying his face in his neck. Kurt hugged him back fervently, hands clenching fabric, and then smoothing it up and down Blaine's back.

He pressed a kiss on Kurt's neck before pulling back, grinning widely. "That, that was awesome."

Kurt nodded, pursing his lips. "Definitely not as excruciating as either of us expected."

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "Does that mean no groping for me?"

Kurt shook his head. "One-track mind much? You just took a huge leap forward in your relationship with your father, you would think –"

Blaine laughed again, a carefree sound that had Kurt dropping his lecture. Blaine sighed dreamily, winking at him. "Okay, okay – never mind, I'm beyond happy as it is, anything beyond this and I would likely explode." The innuendo was on the tip of his tongue, and Kurt was about to let it fly when Blaine covered his mouth, blushing. "Oh, do not. You are above that sort of thing – you've told me so multiple times. Lightsabers, remember?"

Kurt nodded, rolling his eyes as he did so, and Blaine dropped his hand. "Want to take the bathroom first?"

"Yes, please – all that stress had me sweating and ooh, my skin is in desperate need of its moisturizers."

Blaine hesitated for a moment, then reached out, stroking Kurt's hair lightly. "Could you maybe wash out the hair spray too, please?"

Kurt sighed, but he kissed Blaine once, lightly on the lips and nodded his consent – he had been planning on doing it regardless.

Blaine gestured towards the bathroom and the next twenty minutes passed easily enough – his boyfriend played a little music while Kurt completed his nightly regimen, took a quick shower, and changed into his pyjamas while he was in there. As soon as he walked out, Blaine pounced _again_, this time burying both his hands in Kurt's damp hair, kissing him soundly. As Kurt regained his bearings, Mrs. Anderson poked her head in the room to check on them, and she asked if they wanted any last-minute snacks. Blaine flushed, his hands still in Kurt's hair, and Kurt was absurdly happy that it seemed to be his boyfriend turning red now, more often than not. When they both shook their heads, she issued one last warning about the cot and shut the door as she left.

"My turn now." Blaine pressed a quick kiss to Kurt's newly moisturized cheek and disappeared into his bathroom.

Once the door was shut behind his boyfriend, Kurt threw himself on Blaine's bed, giving in to the temptation he'd felt upon first seeing the huge, king-sized comfort-monster. He sprawled there for a few minutes, head buried in the mound of pillows, sighing contently. He was going to sleep well tonight.

"Kurt, listen, would it be cool if . . . "

Kurt jumped a little at hearing Blaine's voice, turning over onto his back, feeling only mildly self-conscious, because holy crap, this bed was almost _too_ comfortable. He never wanted to leave it. It took him a moment of seeing his boyfriend gaping at him, inexplicably struck dumb, to realize that his white T-shirt had ridden up. He yanked it down, unable to restrain a blush, and fell back onto the pillows, limbs akimbo, eyes half-closed, mildly embarrassed. Eventually, the silence was too much – he looked up at Blaine through his lashes, uncertain and too tired to pretend otherwise, "Blaine, say something here – you're making me nervous."

Blaine blinked slowly. "I'm sorry, I'm just trying to permanently etch this into my mind."

Kurt glanced around himself. "What?"

"You. In my bed. Looking like . . ." He trailed off again, and his own cheeks were turning red under Kurt's questioning gaze.

It was surprisingly easy to access some of the newfound confidence Blaine had been inspiring and cultivating within him the past pair of weeks. He felt his lips slide up into a half-smile, and his eyelashes fluttered. Rubbing idly at his neck, he had to restrain a smirk at the way Blaine's eyes caught and held onto the gesture, darkening as his hand slid down his chest, casually adjusting his shirt again. He lifted that same hand, outstretched towards his boyfriend. He tried to recall the tone he'd spoken in earlier that day – the whispery voice that had made Blaine stutter out his words.

"I think you've earned yourself that make-out session, Blaine."

Blaine took a flying leap onto the bed. Kurt laughed as he gracelessly landed next to him, even as it had him bouncing almost clean off the mattress. He was chuckling when Blaine crawled over, covering him completely as his mouth sought Kurt's and his tongue tangled with his.

The laughter was bubbling in his chest, but mounting passion took care of that quickly. His hands were buried in Blaine's hair, clenching and pulling his mouth impossibly closer. Blaine's hands were busy stroking Kurt's chest through his shirt, before tentatively resting on the thin stripe of skin exposed as the garment in question rode up yet again. Kurt gasped into Blaine's mouth, and Blaine whipped his hand away, as if burned. He was also breaking their kiss, probably to say something, but Kurt's grip on his hair prevented him from pulling too far back. Their noses were brushing against each other's, and Kurt opened his eyes, smiling up as Blaine's lids fluttered open too, his own eyes much, much darker now. For once, Kurt ignored the vaguely sick feeling in his stomach – for once, allowing the pleasure and giddiness of being this close to his boyfriend to take precedence over his worries and fears.

He unclenched one hand, slid it down to Blaine's own, and then slowly placed Blaine's right back on his bare stomach. It was warm – warmer than his own skin. His breath hitched. Blaine inhaled loudly, shock steeling across his expression. Kurt only raised an eyebrow back. The hand crept up a bare half an inch. Kurt rolled his eyes, challenging Blaine silently. The hand slid up further. Then back down. Then over and across – and Kurt kissed Blaine again as his boyfriend finally got the message and started to explore the skin beneath his hand. Unknowingly, Kurt's leg was sliding up along Blaine's, and it didn't become apparent to him until it was hooked over Blaine's hip, bringing their lower bodies into sharp, insanely _good_ contact. He lunged forwards, his mouth moving mercilessly over Blaine's, their entire bodies pressed together; Blaine's hand was awkwardly trapped between their two chests and it was _so close_ to his nipples and . . .

"Kurt, _Kurt!_" Blaine panted, urgent and high-pitched, ripping himself away. Kurt allowed it, only because he was now all too aware of every single bit of them in contact – which was virtually _every single _bit of them.

"Kurt," Blaine breathed out, leaning further back than he had before, reaching up to take the hands that were now loosely grasping his curls into both of this own hands, clutching them to his chest. Kurt relished the crazy fast rhythm of Blaine's heart.

"I, I'm ready, if you want more, Kurt," Blaine said all in one rapid-fire burst. Kurt's lips parted, and he stared at his boyfriend. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were dark, lashes fluttering. "If you would let me, I could . . ." Those same eyes flickered downwards, as his hands twitched around Kurt's. "But only if you're ready, Kurt. I know you said it would take you a while. But if you're not ready, we really, _really_ need to stop. And, while I'm fully prepared to be a lying jerk if you want to, we kind of promised your dad we wouldn't do this tonight. Just saying."

Kurt yanked one hand back to smack Blaine on the shoulder. "Oh God, _please_ do not mention my father when we're making out."

Blaine's laugh was short, but genuine and full of good humour. "Sorry, I figured it was better now then . . . then if things got too far and I had my hand –"

"Okay, yes, got the picture," Kurt cut in, feeling positively on fire, and not in the good way. Well, a little in the good way, but the embarrassment was winning out.

He looked away from his boyfriend and took a couple of minutes to think about it. It was not a fleeting kind of thinking, because this was too important to him for a split second decision – he braved the waters of his own pool of fantasies, imagining with as much detail as he could the reality of the act that Blaine was implying. His stomach twisted and revolted, his face burned hotter and he just couldn't, _couldn't_ . . .

"I'm sorry, Blaine," he said dejectedly. "But I can't –"

"Hey, hey, don't apologize," Blaine rushed over his words, smiling sweetly and kissing Kurt's temple. "We talked about this. I have no problem with taking this as slow as you want to. C'mon, Kurt, look at me."

Kurt inhaled deeply, meeting Blaine's gaze, but not quite, with half-closed eyes, nervous and ashamed – because he did _want_ Blaine, he did – just not that. Not yet. But this level closeness, this was perfect. This was something he could ask for, without much reservation.

"You're so unbelievably gorgeous," Blaine breathed out, his voice full of awe.

Kurt huffed out a laugh. "Was that what you wanted to say?"

Blaine turned his head into the pillow, a self-conscious little smile playing about his lips. "Ah, not exactly. But it's true."

Kurt took his turn, pressing a fast kiss to Blaine's cheek, and when he settled back down, he had edged in closer – not quite as close as they had been a few minutes ago, but close enough that Blaine swallowed and put a warning hand on Kurt's shoulder. Kurt covered it with his own, trying to maintain eye contact and (likely futilely) keep his blush down. "I know we're both on edge here, but I don't know how often we'll get to be alone like this, and . . . I really, really love kissing you. Can we just keep doing what we were doing, and stick with that? Please?"

Blaine was hesitant. "I don't know, Kurt, these things can spiral out of control –"

"Yes, but we've both just agreed that we won't, tonight at least." He gave in to the urge to nuzzle Blaine's cheek with his nose, whispering into his ear, "Please."

Blaine made a soft noise as Kurt dragged his lips across his cheekbones, then down, and they were kissing again, a little more controlled, a little more slowly, but raw and passionate – so wonderfully good. Blaine was right about how easily they could both lose control, but Kurt made sure to hold onto to his mortification at the idea of doing so. It made for an odd, slightly uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, but it didn't negate the incredible sensation of kissing Blaine like he was. It gave him enough presence of mind to avoid certain areas, to stop when he felt Blaine pull away slightly to regain his bearings, and start again when he was no longer trembling. He had no idea for how long it went on, but it was _glorious_.

"At some point, we should sleep," Blaine murmured against his lips.

"Yes, that would be the thing to do, wouldn't it?" Kurt responded, kissing him again, briefly. "All right, are you sure you want to take the cot?"

"Yes – because otherwise it's you in the guest bedroom, and that's too far away." Blaine pouted.

Kurt glanced over at Blaine's door, and then back at his boyfriend, arching an eyebrow. "Well, it seems to me that your parents haven't come in to check on us since the last time. Which means that if you wanted to stay here, with me, in this bed –"

"Kurt, I promised your dad –"

"I know you did. But I think we just proved that we have enough restraint to stay together without any so-called inappropriateness going on. Come _on_, Blaine."

Blaine stared at him, chewing on his lip for a moment, then, abruptly, he started laughing. "Oh my God. _You're_ the pressuring boyfriend. Here your dad and I have been worried about you, and it's _me_ who should be concerned about his virtue!"

Kurt frowned, but it took a degree of effort to maintain the expression. "I'm not suggesting anything other than sleep, Blaine. This isn't pressuring, this is . . . wheedling."

Blaine grinned. "Right, because there's so much of a difference. You're so bad."

Kurt turned away, hiding the smile that he could no longer restrain, flipping onto his other side. "Well, if you feel that way, go ahead and sleep on your cot, see if I –"

Blaine snorted, and then an arm came around Kurt's waist, and he was spooning with his boyfriend.

"Is this okay?" Blaine asked quietly.

Kurt covered the arm around him with his own. "It's perfect. Are you . . . okay with this?"

Blaine's lips pressed against the back of his neck once. "I'm perfect with this. Good night, Kurt."

"Good night, Blaine."

After that, it was surprisingly easy to give into the drowsiness and fall completely off the edge of the map into dreams and sleep.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Morning proved to be the greater test for Kurt and Blaine than the night had been, and Kurt wasn't entirely sure if they passed or not.

Because, naturally, upon awakening, Kurt had the same problem he'd had when Blaine had been in Kurt's bed the weekend previous. This time it wasn't nearly as precarious a situation, because his boyfriend was nowhere near his front, but on the other hand, _Blaine's_ problem was particularly evident to Kurt.

He opened his eyes, sighing quietly to himself, and sought a clock to look at. He found one on the shelves opposite him, and the time was seven twenty – he groaned inwardly because he knew there would be no going back to sleep now as he shifted uncomfortably. He clutched at the hand about his waist, and tried to think. It wasn't all that awful, honestly – it was a typical, morning reaction; if he really thought about it, it was potentially embarrassing for both him and Blaine, and his boyfriend's embarrassment was usually pretty adorable to behold.

"Morning," was breathed out next to his ear, calm and sweet, followed up by a soft kiss to his lobe. Kurt shuddered, and Blaine's breath caught. "I . . . am going to brush my teeth, be right back."

And he was gone. Kurt had to cover his mouth to muffle the giggles that were desperately trying to burst forth, and for whatever reason, his own morning issue began to calm. He got up, after a couple of minutes of deep breathing, to knock on the bathroom door. Blaine gasped on the other side. "Y-yeah? Did you need something?"

Kurt grinned, staring up at the ceiling as he answered. "Well, we could brush our teeth together, if you don't mind."

A beat. "Sure, hold on a second."

The door opened a moment later, and Kurt was still grinning, though a little less broadly, not wanting to embarrass Blaine further, adorable as he was in that state. The boy in question was holding a toothbrush with toothpaste freshly applied, ears faintly pink. After swallowing down yet another giggle, Kurt said, "Thank you – I can't take this taste in my mouth for another minute."

He reached for the small bag that he'd brought with his own toothbrush and the like, and soon he and Blaine were standing next to each other in front of the sink, brushing and exchanging glances (slightly nervous ones on Blaine's part, endlessly amused ones from Kurt). He thought he would've been self-conscious about spitting and rinsing in front of Blaine, but he wasn't, not entirely, and any awkwardness was worth the adorable anxiousness that Blaine was trying to hide. Kurt didn't know what had possessed him to intrude upon Blaine like this, but a part of him was trying to let him know that it was _okay_. That Kurt went through the same thing, and it didn't bother him that Blaine did as well.

And it was freaking _cute_ to see his normally so put-together and in-control boyfriend, so out of control and offbeat. It was swiftly becoming his favourite look on him.

But he wasn't without a heart, and Blaine's shuffling and leaning in close to the counter was a good indicator that things weren't quite resolved for him. Kurt had been able to take a cold shower last time, so he allowed Blaine the same courtesy. He gave his face a quick wash with one of the bottles of cleanser he'd left by the sink the night before, and let Blaine alone. A swift kiss to the cheek was the only contact he gave. "I'll leave you to the rest of your morning routine – I'm heading back to bed."

He left the washroom, feeling a little smug about the whole thing – about further confirmation that he could make Blaine just as nervous as Blaine could make him – but then he was unexpectedly lifted and tossed onto the mattress, a shriek escaping him before he could cover his mouth and muffle the sound. Blaine glared teasingly at him, his eyes flashing darkly. "That was cruel, Kurt."

"What? What was cruel?" he asked innocently.

Blaine didn't answer, only ravaged him with a kiss that was altogether a bit much for an early morning.

Not that that stopped Kurt from giving back as good as he got. In moments, things escalated far too quickly, and Kurt ended up with Blaine flat on his back, Kurt's knees on either side of him as he hovered above him and pressed down with long, deep kisses that had Blaine's hands dropping from Kurt, clenching the twisted up blankets beneath them.

Maybe it was overly passionate for seven-something in the morning, but Kurt was having far too much fun to stop. Blaine hadn't asked him to stop yet, so he took that as a sign that his boyfriend was still in control. Almost as soon as he had that thought, Blaine gasped out, "Kurt."

Kurt pulled back, waiting for Blaine to call a halt, content with what he'd gotten, and opening his mouth to tease Blaine before ending this – but none of that happened, because Blaine surged up, re-introducing their mouths, his arms flying to wrap around and pull Kurt down. Kurt lost his balance, collapsing completely on top of his boyfriend, though without losing the intensity of the kiss. A low moan escaped him, and Kurt shifted, trying to lift himself up off Blaine for his boyfriend's sake and self-control.

But Blaine's hands snaked down, gripping at Kurt's hips, pulling them against his own, _hard_. Blaine ripped his mouth away, a muted, desperate noise let loose as his own hips ground upwards against Kurt's once, twice, and half of a third time before Blaine was gasping breathlessly, wordless sounds choked out as he collapsed back, boneless and flushed.

It took Kurt a few seconds to realize what had happened.

In that time, Blaine's eyes had widened to cartoon proportions, his breath hitching, and he was pushing Kurt off and away to run into his bathroom, the door shutting loudly behind him.

Kurt lay on his back where Blaine had shoved him, staring up at the ceiling, and completely at a loss. He breathed in and out slowly, calming his buzzing his mind. His boyfriend . . . just had an orgasm. It was fine. It was fine because clearly, Blaine had already been very on edge when Kurt had been rather unkindly teasing him, and it wasn't Blaine's fault that his teenaged body had gotten ahead of him. It happened. He was clearly feeling very, very embarrassed, and likely extremely worried about how Kurt was taking all of this.

"Blaine?" Kurt called out softly. There was the sound of running water – the shower. Kurt got up from the bed, knocking on the door. "Blaine? Are you all right?"

"Kurt, could you just . . . pass me a pair of jeans, please? And some . . . boxers. And a shirt."

Kurt nodded though Blaine couldn't see it, and rooted about the dresser and his closet (his _marvellous_ walk-in closet, Kurt was _so_ jealous) and knocked on the door again once he had the three requested items.

It took a few long minutes, but eventually the door opened a fraction – just enough for Blaine to grab the clothes. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

Kurt backed away, and started to gather his things up as he waited. He quickly changed into his own clothes – a pair of not-quite skinny jeans, and a simple light sweater in a flattering shade of sage green, with plunging wide v-neck line and simple white tank underneath. He was slipping on his socks when Blaine opened the bathroom door. The air was cool behind him – but his face was still a bit pink.

Kurt offered up a small smile. "You didn't have to run like that."

Blaine stared at him incredulously, opening his mouth, a lengthy, high-pitched ramble bursting forth. "Oh, I had to – that was, I think, on par with the Gap Attack when it comes to mortification. My worst performance ever in a theme park couldn't even come close to that, and in that worse performance I _fell off the stage_ into a _cotton candy vendor_, and completed the rest of my set with sticky, _fluffy, pink_ candy in my hair – and still, _this_ was _without a doubt_ –"

"Blaine," Kurt cut him off, setting back on the bed, sitting cross-legged. "It's okay. Yes, embarrassing and awkward, but we've been eating awkward for breakfast lately, so really, I'm not all that bothered. I'm sure you've been to the health classes that rather disgustingly discuss how very _normal_ that was."

Blaine covered his face with both hands, groaning. "Yes, I know Kurt. That doesn't change the fact that I want to dig a hole and bury myself in it. And . . ." His hands dropped, a desperately disappointed look on his face now. "I wanted the first time that that happened to be, well, I wanted it to be _both_ of us . . . you know, _together._"

Kurt unfolded his legs, bringing them up to his chest, his arms crossing beneath his knees. "I know. But Blaine, we can still have that first – this wasn't anything other than an accident. It happens to Finn all the –" Kurt choked, hand coming up to cover his mouth. "Ack, God, please forget I said that. Damn my father for bringing that up!"

Blaine burst out laughing. "I don't even want to know. Really. Please, never tell me." He moved to sit next to Kurt on the bed, sighing heavily. "All right, I'll try not to feel like a total loser failure for . . . this."

"Good. Because you're not. And you didn't traumatize me in any way. So we're fine."

"Fine," Blaine echoed. He still looked a little down, so Kurt swooped in, kissing him tenderly, one hand resting lightly on his jaw. Blaine hesitated, but was soon kissing him back – Kurt could feel the smile forming beneath his lips and pulled away to see it take over Blaine's face. It really wasn't fair that he'd teased his boyfriend considering how sensitive he knew Blaine to be – Blaine himself had told him that kissing could bring him to the brink and Kurt had pushed regardless of that fact.

He turned away, biting his lip. "You know, Blaine, I would be okay with you, um . . . I could let you . . . _touch me_, if you wanted . . ."

Blaine was shaking his head, holding up both hands to silence Kurt. "Stop right there. Kurt, first of all, try saying that without the nauseated expression on your face. And secondly, I don't want you to 'let me' do anything – I want you to _want me_ to do it."

Kurt breathed out heavily through his nose. "All right, that's it – I am forthwith issuing a ban on all awkward subject matter. For at least the next week we shall discuss nothing that can induce blushing or the urge to dig a hole and live there for the remainder of our adolescent lives. Agreed?"

Blaine kissed his cheek, eyes bright and crinkling at the corners. "Done. Now, there's a piano in the basement, and I heard rumours that you can hit a high F."

Kurt tossed his head haughtily, narrowing his eyes. "You know those are not rumours – Wes asked for my range and I told him – you were there. I told you about throwing that note for my dad."

Blaine nodded solemnly at that last bit, grabbing Kurt's hand and squeezing. "I haven't forgotten, but . . ." He grinned suddenly. "This is something one must hear to believe."

"You think I'm _lying_?" Kurt was deeply affronted.

Blaine shook his head. "No, but there's a difference in _knowing_ your boyfriend has an insane vocal range, and then _hearing_ said vocal range. I'm in the mood to have my socks knocked off."

Kurt stood up from the bed, walking over to Blaine's dresser and yanking out a pair of stripped socks. He stared at them for a moment, shaking his head, but then tossed them over to his boyfriend. "Better put some on first – and do you have the sheet music for _Wicked_?"

Blaine gave him a look and Kurt nodded. "Right, stupid question."

They headed down, laughing and discussing what else they could sing together. Blaine came to a stumbling halt as they passed his parents having coffee in the dining room. His mother glanced up from her crossword, then down at her wristwatch. "Wow, you two are up early – I wasn't expecting to see you until ten at the earliest."

"I'm an early to bed, early to rise sort of person," Kurt explained. "Good morning, Mr. Anderson."

Blaine's father smiled, a little shakily. "Good morning, Kurt. Blaine."

Blaine managed to smile back. "Morning."

"Where are you two headed?" his mother asked, taking a sip from her large mug of coffee.

"To the basement," Blaine answered haltingly. "To do some singing."

"_Oh_." She brightened, putting down her coffee to clasp her hands together. "Oh, would you two mind terribly if I joined you for a few songs? I really would like to hear you sing, Kurt – I've been so busy at the office I haven't been able to see any of the Warbler's performances with you, and now . . . but, of course, if you two want –"

"It's fine with me," Kurt said easily, looking at his boyfriend. "Blaine?"

Blaine was darting looks towards his father, and the hopeful expression on his face made Kurt's heart skip a beat. "Yeah, mom, that would be really great."

She stood up, not even hazarding a glance at her husband. "Wonderful."

Mr. Anderson had been staring down into his coffee cup, brow furrowed. As the three of them turned to head towards the basement – Blaine lingering behind them slightly – the man spoke. "Would it . . . would it be all right if I came along?"

Kurt's heart skipped another beat, though for better reasons, and it started to pump double time as Blaine faced his father with a heartbreakingly gorgeous expression on his face – as if Christmas had come early and Santa had just landed in front of him to personally deliver his toys.

"Awesome," he said breathlessly, flashing a happy grin towards Kurt. "Dad, mom, wait 'til you hear Kurt – it'll blow your minds."

Kurt could feel the nervous knife's edge of stage fright poking at him, but he shook it off. "Don't go setting their standards too high, Blaine. I may be incredible, but I haven't quite reached Broadway standards just yet."

"Don't listen to him – he's _amazing._" The way he sighed that out, eyes wide and intent, full of love and open adoration had Kurt gearing up for his most fantastic performance ever, because Blaine deserved nothing less than everything Kurt had in him to give.

It was quite possibly the single most satisfying experience of his life to see all _three_ Andersons' jaws drop as his voice soared in _Defying Gravity_, Blaine's hands dropping off the piano's keys as Kurt hit that high F. Mrs. Anderson was actually wiping away tears when he finished, and Blaine's father . . . he requested another song. Kurt and Blaine exchanged thrilled looks and immediately began arguing over whether to continue along the Broadway vein, or jump over to something more modern and mainstream. In the end, they let Blaine's parents submit requests, and they spent the entire morning singing song after song after song until both their voices were hoarse.

When Blaine's mom disappeared upstairs to make them lunch, Mr. Anderson quietly excused himself, a soft look in his eyes as he praised them both for their fantastic voices. "Your voice, Kurt . . . it's probably one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard," he said gravely.

Kurt flushed and thanked him. Blaine's father studied him for a second before asking, "Is it something people . . . took note of, at your old school?"

Kurt took a moment to think about what the man was really asking him. "Yes. And it's part of the reason why I've received so much abuse – honestly, even if I hadn't been gay, I probably would have been bullied anyway."

Mr. Anderson took that in, glanced at Blaine – who was looking nervous again – and then back at Kurt. "You're made of some pretty stern stuff, Kurt. To be who you are, where you are . . ."

"I don't think there's a choice for me, Mr. Anderson – I can't exactly hide . . . _this._" He gestured at himself vaguely. "And I've never been very good at pretending to be something I'm most certainly not – mostly because my fabulousness can not be stifled."

Mr. Anderson laughed unexpectedly, smiling at Kurt. "No, I don't believe it can." Kurt waited for more, but it seemed that was all Mr. Anderson was comfortable asking about it – he gave them both smiles, grasping Blaine's shoulder briefly before turning and going upstairs.

Blaine moved in closer to Kurt until they stood, leaning back against the baby grand piano, pressed shoulder to shoulder. He didn't say a word, and Kurt didn't feel any strong urge to fill the silence. They basked in each other's presence for a few minutes before Blaine lifted an arm and slid it around Kurt's waist. "I think," he began slowly, tilting his head towards Kurt, turning slightly to be able to better look him in the eye, "That you are some kind of magical creature, because there is absolutely no way that this weekend could have been _this_ good without the aid of some sort of supernatural force."

"What kind of magical creature?" Kurt asked, feeling giddy and silly and unwilling to take anything seriously at the moment. "Something both powerful and nice to look at, if you please."

Blaine appeared to concentrate hard on this request before shrugging. "I don't know – I would say a siren, but their voices were used to send people to their death . . . how about nymphs? They have a reputation for singing and dancing and being capable of mating with gods and . . ."

"And are you the god in this scenario?" Kurt laughed, mocking Blaine gently. "And you forgot the other part of their reputation – the whole willing and wanting to sleep with _anything_ – hence the word _nymphomania_."

Blaine made a face at that. "Uh, I think I missed that part of the reading on Greek mythology. Though isn't the term nymphomania a woman thing?"

"Yes. Nymphs in mythology are women and _oh my God_ I am not having this conversation right now. Can we please drop the Greek mythology and hypersexuality talk and focus on the fact we have some alone time right now?"

" 'Hypersexuality', is that the correct term?" Blaine said, blatantly disregarding Kurt's protests, his eyes glinting mischievously. "And how do you know that?"

"I don't know – you're the expert on nymphomaniacs, you tell me!" He didn't give Blaine the time or opportunity to say anything at all – he ended the conversation by pushing Blaine hard back against the piano and kissing him into submission.

Blaine tried to fight him, but Kurt only deepened the kiss, his hands burying themselves in their favourite spot – Blaine's curly hair. They remained pressed together for several minutes before Blaine yanked his head away, hiding his face in Kurt's shoulder, moaning. "I hate this – I'm about thirty seconds away from embarrassing myself _again_."

Kurt laughed, surprised at his own comfort and ease with the subject matter. "I'm sorry," he said in a breathy voice – completely unintentionally; it was what he usually sounded like after kissing Blaine. "Here, I'm going to play for a bit – any requests?"

Blaine turned so that his lower half was shielded by the piano, his cheeks that adorable shade of pink. He smiled at Kurt without reservation though, and Kurt rested his fingers on the keys, waiting patiently for Blaine to gather his thoughts.

It took only one song (_Wouldn't It Be Loverly_ in full cockney accent, which had Blaine in stitches) for Blaine to calm down enough to sit next to Kurt on the piano bench, and they took turns singing to and with each other, until Mrs. Anderson called down the stairs that lunch was ready.

Blaine tugged Kurt into a hug just before they climbed the stairs, half murmuring, half singing into his ear, "_Why do stars, fall down from the sky, every time you walk by? Just like me, they long to be, close to you._"

Kurt laughed, dropping his head onto Blaine's shoulder. "You are so cheesy . . . and perfect, damn you."

Blaine kissed his earlobe once and kept going – Kurt closed his eyes, swaying a little, as Blaine softly sang. "_On the day that you were born, the angels got together, and decided to create a dream come true . . . so they sprinkled moondust in your hair, of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue . . ._"

"I love you," Kurt whispered, still swaying as Blaine's voice faded into humming, and then into silence. Blaine held him closer, and they rocked back and forth, Blaine breathing out the same words into Kurt's hair.

If every single humiliating, awkward moment and conversation of the past few weeks – every potentially painful and embarrassing moment to come in the future, was the price to pay for having this boy in his arms loving him and being able to love him back? Kurt would pay it a hundred times over, never feeling remotely ashamed or self-conscious about it . . . and maybe, _just maybe_, if it wasn't only the pipe dream of a sixteen year old moonstruck by his first boyfriend, Kurt would continue to live in love with Blaine Warbler Anderson until they were old, wrinkled, and incapable of feeling embarrassed about _anything_.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **_Holy hell, _did that ever take me _forever _to get out of my head!

**Lengthy apology/explanation, verging on TMI (skip if you're uninterested :P): **It boils down to this – for this past month, someone quite close to me has been very ill, and I've been taking care of them. It came on suddenly, left them pretty much incapable of doing anything other than laying down and feeling miserable, so I've been taking over their life while they dealt with crippling pain, nausea and then after two weeks of back-and-forth to the doctor, not knowing what was wrong, then _finally_ knowing what was wrong, they had to deal with the _side-effects _of the medicine that was to make them better, which were basically on par with the illness itself – and that lasted another two weeks. It's been a sucky month. Though I have been learning the ins and outs of livejournal during some of my downtime – that's been a pleasant distraction.

**BUT I GOT TO GO TO GLEE LIVE! **During one of the up-swings, I was forced out the door by this ill person to go to this concert with my friends (I was seriously not going to go despite having bought my tickets months ago), and it was _amazing. _My Klaine skit involved Kurt/Chris informing us that Ontario was his former exotic dancing name. I laughed so loud I missed Blaine/Darren's reaction to this :D It's not quite as awesome as _commemorative plates, _holy crap, Chris XD . . . but amazing all the same.

**You guys rock. **No, really – the reviews I've received this past month (not just for this story, so hi there if some of you others are here! *waves*) helped brighten my days when so few things did. My gratitude runs far deeper than you know. *hugs* Thank you.

**NOW, to end it! **Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait. *is nervous* I definitely have an idea for an epilogue (as some of you know), but I'm not too sure if this story needs one – it might be a bit much, you know? It's a light-hearted thing that I have in mind, but I'm not too sure now . . .

I tried to reply to everyone, but a few of you have your PM off – this website has turned off my private messaging sometimes without my knowledge, so assuming you haven't done so yourself, and wish for me to reply to your comments, double check your account settings :)

**ALL RIGHT, I'm done – thank you all for your favourites/alerts/comments – again, my gratitude knows no bounds!**


	10. Epilogue, Part 1

_**Epilogue, Part 1: Just Like Me, They Long to Be . . .**_

_July 2011_

There was a hot boy wandering about the mall right now – he was decked out in a red, white and black cheerleading uniform, and it was _mouth-watering_ in its sexiness – and he was Blaine's _boyfriend_. Blaine had been following closely behind Kurt and his hoard of Cheerios, eager and probably puppy-like in his enthusiasm, but in this Blaine had absolutely no shame – his _boyfriend_ was in a _cheerleading uniform_ and he was going to perform in said uniform. He was allowed to be a little (_a lot_) fanboy about this.

Of course, right now he was in a corner between two stores, leaning against the wall of a hallway that lead towards the bathrooms, next to Dave Karofsky, Kurt's (former) chief tormentor, and a closet-case.

The last four months of his life had been positively _insane, frustrating, heartbreaking, strange_ and _mind-blowing_ in their ups and downs, and it seemed his summer was following this trend, only cranked up to eleven.

It was watching Kurt leave him – leave _Dalton_, the safe walls of Dalton – to go back to a school that would end up crowning him Prom Queen as part of a hideous prank, and a dinner at the Hudson-Hummels with his family _after_ that horrific incident, which almost ended in Burt and his own father punching each other out when his dad had (unthinkingly) laid the blame on Kurt. On the brighter side of things, there had also been kisses that had been steadily escalating in passion, and being able to see Kurt topless _twice_, (and yesterday he'd been allowed to _touch_ . . . to put on sunscreen while they were at Quinn's for a pool-party but _still,_ the resulting make-out session had been _spectacularly_ hot).

His job at Six Flags was great, but thoroughly exhausting, and only a couple of weeks ago he had had one seriously messy fight with Kurt over what, he can't even remember, only that they didn't talk or see each other for about four days and it had been agony. Then they'd bumped into one of Blaine's old bullies – one of the one's responsible for his brief stay in a Westerville hospital after the Sadie Hawkins's Dance at his old school, and needless to say,_ that_ had been crazy.

Now Kurt was here, at the mall, because his former cheerleading coach was quite possibly the devil, but maybe not, because her blackmailing Kurt into doing this Cheerio's appearance for the local news (an attempt to regain her previous glory and put her Cheerios back on the scene) meant _Kurt in a cheerleading uniform_.

And here Blaine was, with Karofsky.

He'd seen the bully in the crowd while the Cheerios had been setting up – he'd watched him for a few minutes, but quickly lost sight of him in the rush of shoppers and shrugged it off as happenstance. However, when he saw him _again_ as they were doing sound checks, and when there was no mistaking the way Karofsky's eyes were lingering on Kurt, he had to do _something_. Telling Kurt wasn't an option – he was locked up in a whirlwind of red skirts, and Sue Sylvester was drilling them all mercilessly, bordering on inhumane and illegal, really – so Blaine took it upon himself to talk to the jock.

He knew the last time they'd encountered each other it had been less than good. But, considering what Kurt told him about his tearful apology, the fact that Karofsky seemed more afraid now, rather than inciting fear in others, talking to the (hopefully repentant) bully in the crowded mall seemed to be a relatively safe idea.

He'd caught up to Karofsky as he was about to disappear into the bathrooms.

"Hey . . . Dave!" He had no plan whatsoever, and he realized this might blow up in his face only just as Karofsky turned to face him, looking surprised, then uncomfortable, then blank. He took a few hesitant steps towards Blaine and they met in the middle of the hallway.

"You're . . ." The other teen shuffled a bit on his feet, glancing about them – there wasn't anyone in the vicinity, since most people were heading towards the performance area, and they were hidden from view from the rest – which sort of shot Blaine's confront-him-in-a-crowd idea, but this boy in front of him didn't seem quite as threatening as he once did. "You're Kurt's . . . boyfriend."

Blaine nodded, swallowing hard and doing his best to keep up a neutral, if not vaguely friendly expression. "I am."

Karofsky nodded back, his jaw clenching as he scrutinized him – Blaine didn't shift nervously as those intense eyes rested on his, but it was a near thing. Eventually, Karofsky sagged back against the wall, his gaze dropping to the floor. He crossed his arms and spoke in a small, weary voice. "What do you want?"

Blaine inhaled slowly, breathing out his question, "What are you doing here?"

Karofsky shrugged. "It's a mall – I was coming to pick up a new pair of running shoes. Maybe some shorts. You're here for . . . Kurt."

"Yes," Blaine said, moving forward and leaning again the wall next to Karofsky. Nothing was said for a time, and this was the moment Blaine was using to reflect on the insanity of the past few months of his life. Blaine didn't do head-on confrontations – or at least, he hadn't, until a high, breathy voice had inquired,_ "Excuse me, hi, can I ask you a question?"_ After that, and after less than a week of knowing Kurt, he was ready to speak to his bully for him, _face to face_, and get shoved up against a chain link fence, risking getting hit.

He felt a pang at his own obliviousness – how could he have thought what he felt for Kurt was pure friendship, when after such a short time, Kurt was already so deep under his skin that he'd been willing, without hesitation, to put himself in a situation similar to the one that ended up with him in a hospital. He shook his head, trying to banish that thought – he had Kurt _now_, and he was working to deserve him, to make up for months of being a blind idiot.

He shot Karofsky a side-glance. "You're here for Kurt, too." He held his breath, waiting, unable to stop his shoulders from hunching in.

The huge boy shook his head in instant denial, but what came out of his mouth was, "I don't know why the fuck I'm here, actually – but yeah, sure, why not? I'm here to check out your boyfriend."

Blaine blinked, mouth parting – he had not been expecting such a ready confession. Kurt had been right, Karofsky had been making progress. A little flicker of protectiveness flared in Blaine's chest; he bit back the urge to reiterate _yes, __**my**__ boyfriend, as in __**not**__ yours_, because he should say something, but not something that might end in another shoving contest. There was no Santana nearby, and he wasn't entirely sure that Karofsky wouldn't just punch him out – not out of fear, but out of jealously.

"Have you given any more thought to coming out?" Blaine asked carefully.

Karofsky wheeled around to stare him incredulously. "Man, I just said that I'm here to _creep on your boyfriend_. What the hell?"

"And that does make me feel a little . . ." _Like hitting you_. "Uncomfortable, but I'm pretty sure you're not going to do anything to him." _Or I will hit you, repeatedly, until you overpower and possibly kill me_. Blaine knew his thoughts were completely irrational, and he tried to push them away.

Karofsky gave a grimace that may or may not have been his attempt at a smile, "Yeah, that's right – not gonna try a damn thing, because that would be like _coming out_ and I'm not, I can't." He whispered the last part of that statement, and sagged even further, slouching down – he was closer to Blaine's height now (maybe closer to Kurt's would be more accurate), and Blaine (while feeling a little like he was completely up shit-creek without a paddle, because if there was anything he learned these past few months, it was that, on occasion, his advice/mentoring skills? _Sucked_.) was proud of himself for not flinching away.

"Tell me something about yourself that has nothing to do with being gay, or Kurt or . . . the stuff you used to do to him," Blaine said with some effort.

Karofsky shot him another look of '_seriously, dude, what the hell?_' but he seemed to be actually considering what Blaine was telling him. When he next spoke, it was Blaine who felt his eyebrows rising in surprise.

"I like the crooners. You know, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin? My mom listens to them a lot – a lot of stuff from the Big Band era, even though she wasn't around then. I knew who the Rat Pack was before I knew anything else about music, really. I used to sing along with her, when she was doing dishes and laundry and stuff. She and my dad, they used to say I sound a lot like Frank Sinatra did in his younger recordings."

Blaine blinked. "Wow, that's . . ."

"You kinda look like you'd belong there," Karofsky continued, seemingly on a roll. "With the way you do your hair and stuff. I like a lot of the movies from then. Marlon Brando – that's who you remind me of sometimes."

That was pretty cool, actually. Blaine felt his lips tug up in an involuntary smile, which was quickly schooled back to a neutral expression, because this guy, pathetic and seemingly unthreatening as he was at the moment, used to _shove_ and _slushie_ Kurt, and had _kissed_ him against his will. "So, there's more to you than football and shoving around people smaller and weaker than yourself."

Karofsky snorted wetly, a hand coming up discretely to wipe his face. "If there's anything Hummel isn't, it's _weak_. That guy is stronger than me. He takes crap like no one else, and fuck if he ever let it get to him, until _I_ started . . . I know it's different, what I was doing. And I'm not proud of myself for it, okay? But I can't . . . I like Sinatra, and even dancing, and yeah, there's a few Broadway shows I dig, but that's like painting a target on your back, dude, in this town. And if I came out, _for the rest of my life_ I'll have that bull's-eye on me. And I don't need that shit. I know how fucking miserable and messed-up people can be about this, because of how _I_ treated Kurt."

Blaine hated how much he was sympathizing with this guy right now. He wanted to go back to intensely disliking him for everything he did to Kurt and everything he'd probably _thought _about doing to Kurt, but Dave Karofsky was sad and damaged, and horrible as it was, he was at least a little bit right about having a permanent target – a mark that separated you from the rest, singled you out for extra obstacles and pain in your life.

"You know what, Dave? You're not wrong – I've had crap done and said to me that's left scars – in some cases literally – because of who I am, and because I'm not willing to hide it. But . . ." Blaine floundered for words, because he felt what he wanted to say, but couldn't find the right way to actually _say_ it. "But being constantly afraid and watching your words and actions, it's no way to live. The people who really care about you won't care about this. And it's going to hurt when you find out which ones those are. There may not be many. There may be only one. But once you're out there, it's . . . it's light as air, I promise. And the other crap – trust me when I tell you that you can deal with it. You're not the first one to go through this, and unless we wake up tomorrow in a free and just world, you won't be the last."

Karofsky listened, though how much he absorbed, Blaine didn't and couldn't know. But it seemed that some of it at least, got through to him because he wasn't quite so slumped over when he said, "I don't get what's in it for you, Anderson, to be saying this stuff to me, but . . . thanks."

Blaine did feel rather vindicated by that admission, and he decided to push his luck. "I don't suppose that in gratitude you could, maybe . . . stop creeping on my boyfriend."

Karofsky jumped a bit at that, and actually _laughed_ for a moment before cutting himself off and staring at Blaine in surprise. "Man, I, I can't . . . I don't know, Anderson. Kurt, he's, uh . . ." He waved his hands helplessly. "I'm not . . . fuck, I don't know, don't want to say any of this shit out loud, but I'm not, I _can't_ do anything, take him from you. Like, really, do you think he would even _want_ to if I tried?"

Blaine knew that, logically, Karofsky was right. Kurt might try and help him if approached by the Dave that stood before Blaine now, but he couldn't imagine him being tempted to date the boy. But on the other hand, Dave was sort of good-looking when not menacing or trying to blend in with his homophobic jock buddies, and he dug Frank Sinatra and he was a total fix-it project, something Kurt would just dive headfirst into. His rational mind reared up and brought that thought process to a screaming halt, his own voice blaring in his head: _Blaine Warbler, shut up, this is so stupid. And dangerous. Mostly stupid._

"No," he said firmly, both for his sake and Karofsky's. "But think of it as, I don't know, a favour to me for not telling him about you sort of stalking him, and thus getting him to take out a restraining order. Make no mistake, Dave, I'm not here to drag you out of the closet, but if you keep following my boyfriend around, I will make sure he gets that restraining order."

He had no idea how he'd gone from mentoring to threatening in less than a minute, but Dave's inability to admit defeat when it came to Kurt, despite admitting to not being able to actively do anything about it – it made him itch to do something to get him to put some distance between he and Kurt. Blaine had no clue where it was all coming from, but there it was.

Karofsky hunched in, becoming sullen and withdraw in a second, and the bully was back, glaring at Blaine with narrowed eyes and that slightly scary vibe coming off him, but Blaine held his ground, glaring right back up at him.

"You're fucking insane, Anderson – I'm not trying to steal your boyfriend, I'm not going to fuck up my life here for something I know I can't ever have. So shut up and get lost – I'm not promising you anything if you're too stupid to figure out that it would mean nothing. Nothing's going to change until we wake up in that dream world you were taking about. Go, make out with Kurt and get your gay-freak-on somewhere I can't see it."

He pushed past Blaine then, and it wasn't until he was gone – lost in the crowd – that Blaine exhaled the breath he'd been holding all throughout that mini-speech. He'd heard the undisguised self-loathing and want in Dave's words. It scared him, for Kurt, and he couldn't help but wonder if maybe he'd just made things all the worse, as he was wont to do. But there was nothing he could do, for now, and really, Karofsky seemed to be doing a fine job of talking himself down from doing anything too alarming.

He glanced at his watch, realizing it was almost show time. He headed towards the performance area as fast as he could, heart already hammering, because his boyfriend was in a cheerleading uniform. His boyfriend was (temporarily) a _cheerleader_. Blaine had seen the YouTube videos of previous Cheerio performances. With the exception of the Nationals video, which had been clearly ripped from ESPN, they had been grainy and poor, cell-phone quality type recordings, but that hadn't stopped him from spotting Kurt amongst the red-clothed multitude, and hitting replay over and over. He must've raised the view count on '_4 Minutes at McKinley_' by ten thousand at least.

Blaine shook off the encounter with Dave Karofsky – not easily, because that desperate tone in his voice when he spoke of Kurt, of the fact that he could never have what Blaine had with him, had him confused and not entirely sure of how he felt about it. It sparked something dark and uneasy in him, to think of that boy gazing and wanting Kurt from afar. He tried to put it out of his mind as he made his way through the crowds at the mall, seeing Kurt's long leg kick high in the air before he saw Kurt himself, hair immaculate, swept up and away. The leg came down from its impossibly high position in the air, and Kurt hopped on the spot a little before swinging his other long leg up over his head. Blaine swallowed drily, but soon after he was grinning as Kurt caught his eye and waved. His boyfriend glanced around himself surreptitiously before blowing him a kiss and winking.

Blaine's heart skipped a beat, and he was so wrapped up in everything that was Kurt, he missed the looming, frightening form of Sue Sylvester appearing in the midst of the milling Cheerios, blaring into her megaphone. "_Cheerios, form ranks! Those of you not of my prized cheerleaders, back away before you find out what it's like to have a size eleven foot buried in your abdomen_."

The entire crowd (which had grown remarkably in size without Blaine noticing) backed up three steps almost in perfect unison, quieting as Sue glared at them all, and Blaine had no doubt she would have followed through on her threat (he saw her punch out the Lieutenant Governor's wife at Regionals, after all). Kurt had disappeared and Blaine took in the crowd on the floor and up on the balconies – they'd even stopped the escalators so people could huddle on them. There was more than one new's crew camera, and every other person was holding up a cell phone or Blackberry. Blaine saw Dave Karofsky amongst those on the upper floor, his face betraying only detached interest. Blaine's spine stiffened but he focused on the sea of red and white uniforms as the blare of JXL's mix of _A Little Less Conversation_ came on over the massive speakers.

Apparently this was an older routine (one, unfortunately, not posted on YouTube); the story behind it was one Kurt told with lots of eye rolls and exasperation – a trip to the girls' locker room, collaboration with Santana. Blaine forgot it all as his boyfriend's voice rang out, low and dirty and perfect, the Cheerios performing flips and tosses that defied all laws – but what did gravity mean to Sue Sylvester?

Kurt swerved, slid and spun amongst the organized chaos, and mid-way Santana slunk over to his side, pressing in close and singing a few lines with him. "_A little more bite and a little less bark/A little less fight and a little more spark/Close your mouth and open your heart and baby, satisfy me/Satisfy me baby_."

Blaine found his mouth totally dry, and a monstrous grin took over his face. Pride buoyed him as he knew that _this_, amongst this sort of insanity, was where Kurt belonged. He'd always known it, but right there in front of him was irrefutable proof. The crowd was cheering itself hoarse as the music built up and Kurt lifted Santana, seemingly _effortlessly_, onto her position at the top of the pyramid, singing all the while. The Cheerios picked up the last chorus with him, a few death-defying leaps bringing it all to a frightening conclusion – including Santana flinging herself down from the very top in a complicated twist and down precisely into Kurt's arms.

The screams and applause actually overwhelmed Coach Sylvester's megaphone (he could see her mouth form the word '_mediocre_'), and Blaine saw a rare sight indeed: Santana's smirking softened into a smile as Kurt swung her around in triumph, pressing a kiss to her cheek. It was fleeting – soon her smug expression was back and she was disappearing amongst the chattering, waving, excited Cheerios. Kurt found Blaine in the crowd again, and he raised his eyebrow in question.

Blaine had not stopped clapping since the first incredible set of lifts, and his face hurt from smiling so relentlessly. He gave Kurt two thumbs up and a mouthed, _Wow_. Kurt flushed happily and was swallowed all too soon by his fellow Cheerios. Sue was entertaining three interviewers at once and the crowd finally stopped cheering after another couple of minutes. Many drifted away, chatting and probably posting their videos online as they went. Many more were hanging around, mostly boys, probably hoping to chat-up one of the Cheerios – Santana in particular, he would imagine.

He glanced up to see a distinct lack of McKinley bully hovering around the balcony, or in any of the crowd around him, and felt something in him loosen and unwind.

"Blaine!"

He turned to see a hoard of New Directions coming at him, Finn in the lead. He grinned up at Kurt's stepbrother as he arrived at his side, a big hand coming down to clap on his shoulder as the tall boy asked excitedly, "That was so awesome, wasn't it?"

Finn was bursting with energy and pride, and Blaine nodded quickly, glad to have someone else in on his Kurt Hummel Appreciation. "He was awesome! I know that Coach Sylvester is crazy beyond crazy, but you guys should totally convince him to get back on the squad next year."

Mercedes appeared on Blaine's other side, also smiling widely, proud of her friend, but she shook her head at Blaine's suggestion. "I don't know – she's also dead-set on sabotaging Glee club, which is part of the reason why Kurt didn't rejoin this past year. And she has some weird rule about wearing your uniform like, all the damn time. Which, as I'm sure you know, is not really a way to get Kurt on your side."

Blaine shrugged, and then shot Mercedes a sly, sideways look. "I don't know, I think Kurt is pretty fond of the Dalton blazer."

She nudged him hard, but her grin soon matched his. "I think that has more to do with the boy that's in it. And quit acting all smug – as if _that_ uniform isn't your new favourite thing in his closet?"

Blaine didn't deny it. Rachel was bouncing a bit, complaining about how much more attention Cheerios got than their own performances, when she abruptly stopped mid-rant, staring behind Blaine, her face splitting into a wide smile. She grabbed Mercedes' arm, and pointed – Mercedes turned to look and promptly burst out laughing. Naturally, Blaine and everyone else had to see what they were staring at.

A group of girls, pre-teens it looked liked, stood huddled together, flushed and excited, and one of them was clutching a bristol board with ridiculous bright and glittery lettering proclaiming _THREE CHEERS FOR KURT! _Blaine couldn't help but gape, as did many others.

"My boy Kurt has a _fan club_?" Puck scratched at his head, looking as flabbergasted as Blaine could imagine the mohawked boy could look. He turned to his girlfriend and Lauren just shrugged.

"I like men with voices lower than Mickey Mouse and a little more dirt and grit goin' on in general – but Kurt does have his own hotness factor, I guess, if he wasn't so clearly, flaming gay."

Mercedes explained what was going on between bouts of laughter. "We bumped into two of these girls a couple of months ago – they were practically _drooling_ all over him, not that he noticed, of course. He is so, so _oblivious _when it comes to girls, like most guys, though I guess he has a good excuse. Anyways, it was freakin' hilarious."

Rachel preened. "They thought I was his 'hot girlfriend', which was both flattering and amusing. Although, you know, if Kurt weren't gay, he and I do have a lot in common – which is probably what makes us clash so often, but as Lauren said, he does have his own unique appeal –"

"Uh, Rachel, please stop," Finn cut her off, gazing at her pleadingly. Blaine silently added his own support to Finn's. He knew, realistically, that neither Rachel nor those little girls (Kurt's _fan club_) posed a real threat to his boyfriend, but for some reason, it had his hackles rising.

All of that disappeared as Kurt bounded over, a little sweaty but hardly a hair or crease out of place. It was an enviable ability, one that Blaine at times resented because the sight of a messy, dishevelled Kurt was rare and incredibly hot, but this, this was Cheerio Kurt and therefore the hotness was achieved regardless.

Blaine grabbed a waving hand as Kurt thanked his friends profusely for coming, ranting about practise and staging. "And you have no idea – Coach Sylvester made us sign releases and I'm not entirely sure I didn't promise her my first born child or something. For all I know I'm her indentured servant for the next decade, but it was worth it! I've been up since dawn rehearsing this routine, and we were only allowed one five-minute food-and-water break that was really more like a three minute Red Bull break because she set the timer to run faster than normal, and she refused water until we were through – but I forgot that for all her mental instability and total disregard for basic human rights, the woman knows her showmanship because _damn_ that was amazing." Blaine was fairly sure Kurt hadn't taken more than half a breath through that tirade. Red Bulls indeed.

"I saw you getting interviewed by a reporter!" Tina separated herself from Mike long enough to hug Kurt and congratulate him up close. "Are you going to be on the news later today? Which network – I so want to record it."

Kurt's eyes were so bright and sparkling, and Blaine fell a little bit harder at the sight. "I have no idea – I'm running on like, five energy drinks and I could probably do that whole routine another five times, but don't ask me to tell you what day it is, or who's President. Hm, I wonder if she laced those Red Bulls with something – it so wouldn't surprise me."

"And speaking of surprises." Mercedes nudged her best friend, putting an arm around his shoulders and facing him towards his giggling group of admirers. "Look who turned up to cheer you on."

Kurt squinted and then his eyes widened comically, much to everyone's amusement, "I don't even know what . . . Is there a recommended protocol for situations like this?" He floundered a little, looking at all his friends in confusion, while also avoiding eye contact. Blaine found this deeply funny.

"You should sign their poster," Rachel said knowingly. "It will be good practise for when you're my co-star in our big Broadway break-out hit that will rocket us into national, if not international, stardom."

There were several eye rolls at this, but many nods and grins and pokes directed at his boyfriend, prompting him to do just that. Mercedes handed him a bright, sparkling pen. "Take it boy, make all their dreams come true."

"You've gotta do it man," Puck added. "Like, for dudes everywhere. Doesn't matter that you're a fairy – you've got _roadies_. Sign one of their boobs."

Lauren hauled back and smacked Puck on the back of his head. "They're _pre-teens_, you perv – half of them haven't even gotten their first training bra yet."

"You're all insane – I realize this isn't news, but I feel the need to reiterate. Blaine, honey, please – some sense, coming from you, would be most appreciated."

Blaine hated to disappoint Kurt, he truly did – but this just _could not_ be missed. His brief discomfort with the idea had well and truly evaporated in the face of all the teasing his boyfriend was getting. He tilted his head at Kurt and put an arm around his shoulders once Mercedes stepped back. "I think you would totally and completely make their day if you went over there and thanked them for coming down to support you," Blaine said solemnly, pushing Kurt over to the girls.

"Oh God, you too?" Kurt moaned. "This is ridiculous. I don't even understand – they _know_ I'm gay. I explained it to them . . . Blaine –"

"C'mon, Kurt, you know it will make them ridiculously happy. Consider it a good deed." Blaine leaned in close to say this into his boyfriend's ear. Kurt turned, their noses brushing as he did so, his eyes narrowing. It was distracting, in the best way possible.

"You know what they say about those, right? Something to do with how they never go unpunished." It was meant to be threatening, Blaine was sure. But he couldn't help but to smirk and waggle his eyebrows. Kurt groaned and allowed himself to be manhandled. "Fine, fine. God, let's get this over with."

The rest of New Directions followed, though hanging back at a respectable distance to watch it unfold without direct interference. Blaine remained close, wanting to see this firsthand. The grin on his face was one of his more silly ones, he knew, but he found it rather _cool_ to be the boyfriend of a local . . . _rock star? Hottie?_ He had to swallow down what may have been distinctly unmanly giggles as one of the girls spotted Kurt on the approach and went absolutely white, freezing to the spot, staring with an open mouth. She managed to come to life and gesture frantically at the rest of the group, who had similar reactions.

Just when Blaine thought his day couldn't get any better – he figured seeing Kurt perform in his _cheerleading uniform_ (and he would be forever emphasizing that in his own mind – it would forever deserve _emphasis_) would be the best thing to happen in this twenty-four hour period. But this was shaping up to be fairly awesome – perhaps even on par.

Kurt huffed out a breath as the girls seemed to huddle in on themselves, all slack-jawed and awed when he came to a stop in front of them.

"Hello," he began, and there was more than one sigh as he spoke. Blaine was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, and he could feel Kurt shoot him a glare – he looked off to the side, down at the floor, trying for casual and failing miserably.

"I wanted to say that it's very, very kind of you to come out here to see me perform," Kurt said rather formally and stiffly. "And that poster has some excellent glitter work – and believe me when I say that I know my glitter and crafting skills." There were several giggles and a lot of blushing.

"Hi Kurt!" came the breathless voice of a young girl that seemingly burst onto the scene. She was pretty, with dark skin, curly hair, and a cute smile, braces and all.

"Oh, hi Grace." Kurt's formality eased up a bit, and his own smile became more genuine. Another sigh came from Blaine's right. He was practically chewing on his cheek by this point to keep from cracking up.

"It was _so_ amazing, watching you do that!" Grace gushed, and Blaine saw her eyes flick once or twice towards him, curious and a little . . . _oh_. Blaine was not unfamiliar with girls checking him out. This was better than girls his own age, at any rate. It was more cute than anything else.

"How come you did it, though?" Grace asked. "I thought you weren't a Cheerio anymore?"

"Oh, well, Sue Sylvester drives a hard bargain. And by that I mean, it was this or death."

There was some blinking at this, and soon another girl was on the scene, next to Grace and also breathless. "It's me, Kurt!"

"Yes, hi Tanya." Kurt sounded very amused. "So, how have you two spent your summer so far?"

Kurt chatted with the two girls, whilst the rest of the group looked on, paying rapt attention, and some appearing to be more than a little jealous. Blaine was content at his boyfriend's side, feeling so, so grateful that he could be here to see this – to see Kurt get lavished with attention he rightfully deserved.

Grace brought him into the conversation soon enough, sizing him up and looking back towards Kurt, impishly asking. "So, Kurt, is this your _boyfriend_?"

A dozen pair of eyes zoomed in on him. Not only could he see it, he could _feel_ it. It was a little disconcerting. He smiled at everyone and clutched Kurt's hand. "Yeah, that's me."

The happy squeals weren't deafening, but they were loud enough to have both he and Kurt flinching. Blaine had _no clue_ what to make of this, but the way these little pre-teens were _hungrily_ eying up him _and_ Kurt. He felt like he was on display in such a completely different way than performing on stage had ever felt. Was that a camera or three aimed at him? Kurt was leaning into his side as well, and he could have sworn he heard the girls of New Directions smothering laughter behind them.

"He is _so _cute!" Grace actually _clapped her hands_ in delight. "I'm so happy for you!"

Kurt gave Blaine a crooked smile. "Looks like you have fans of your own."

"Oh, Sarah has been so _annoying_ about this." Tanya made a face. "She's this girl in our class. She's like, so unbelievably snotty. And full of herself. And she said she was going to like, steal you away or something. I was like, _hello, gay and with a cute–_" she gave Blaine an up-and-down stare, and corrected herself, making Blaine blush " – _hot boyfriend_. Such a brat."

"Oh middle school politics, how I do not miss you." Kurt grinned in commiseration with the two girls, who proceeded to rave about this Sarah's other misdemeanours.

"Shut up, guys," warned a nearby groupie, whispering quickly. "Here she comes!"

Kurt shot Blaine a highly amused glance as Tanya and Grace groaned but allowed the new girl to push her way to Kurt. Blaine shrugged back at his boyfriend and turned to smile at her. She was pretty in a made-up kind of way, but she had a too-wide smile and clothes a little too adult for her awkward not-yet-teenaged limbs. Add to that the glare and sniff she directed towards Tanya and Grace, and it was clear that not too much of that they'd said was an exaggeration.

"Oh wow." She was momentarily star-struck upon seeing Kurt, gazing up at him with her mouth open. Blaine had to muffle another snort with his sleeve and Kurt hit him lightly without even turning to look at him. Blaine grinned over at Tanya and Grace, who had burst into giggles at their little exchange. Blaine then flicked a glance over at the New Directions, still standing several feet behind them. Most of them had apparently been sufficiently amused and had drifted off, but Rachel, Tina, Quinn, Mercedes, Sam and, oddly enough, Santana were watching the scene play out with varying degrees of interest. Mercedes was arching an eyebrow, a happy, teasing smirk on her lips as she gazed pointedly at Kurt and then winked at Blaine – _he is so never going to live this down,_ she seemed to be saying. Blaine winked back in wordless agreement before going back to watching Kurt interact with yet another fan.

"Hello," Kurt said kindly.

"Hi," Sarah replied, also sounding short of breath (_Are all these girls asthmatics or what?_ Blaine wondered randomly.). "I was watching the performance, and it was _excellent_, and that round-house, was _incredible_. Also, your vocal range –"

Blaine saw Tanya rolling her eyes out of the corner of his own. He had to concur – young as she was, this girl reminded him Rachel, but with none of the genuine sweetness and care that the petite diva was capable of (and that made her and Kurt more similar than they cared to admit).

Kurt was patient with her, smiling along to her lengthy, pretentious list of praises. Blaine was proud of his boyfriend, in love with the way Kurt had dealt with these girls. Kurt's hand snaked around behind him to grab onto Blaine's once, squeezing tightly before reaching with both hands to grasp Sarah's bright pink finger nailed ones. The girl shut up instantly, mooning at Kurt. Blaine's face was _aching_ from all the smiling he was doing.

"Well, Sarah, I appreciate your attention to detail and highly . . . useful comments, but my friends and I have to get going –"

"Oh, no, wait!" Suddenly the awestruck twelve year-old was gone, and a smug, coy snob had taken her place; that was rather a _creepy_ look on a young girl's face. "There's someone else who wants to meet you."

Blaine could see Kurt trying to come up with a polite excuse and he himself was turning towards their friends, ready to silently ask them to intervene. But then he saw the looks on their faces. All of them were wide eyed; Santana was _leering_ and Mercedes mouthed a soundless _'Hot damn.'_

Blaine turned back, slowly, catching Tanya and Grace's own gobsmacked expressions. He finally saw what they saw, and _damn_.

He was tall – taller than Kurt. He had gorgeous auburn hair, a shade of deep red Blaine would have thought unnatural if it didn't match his eyebrows, and look so _natural _against his pale peach skin. He had dark blue eyes and an expression on his face that was kind and not at all smug. He shook his head at Sarah, giving Kurt a faintly self-conscious smile. "Hi Kurt – I'm embarrassed to say I know a little too much about you, and I'm sure you know why."

Blaine felt a strange pulling at his heart as Kurt smiled back understandingly. "It's fine – I take it you were also an involuntary spectator?"

The guy grinned and no, _no_, he did _not_ just slide his eyes up and down Kurt's cheerleading uniform clad body. He did not. The urge Blaine felt to wrap Kurt up in a robe and hide him from prying eyes was completely unreasonable. He could feel his eyebrows knitting in confusion – these were new and very unwelcome sensations, originating in his chest and making him think that maybe he was coming down with something. Unwittingly, he thought of Karofsky and . . . _oh_. _Oh no._ "I can't say that I was – Sarah said 'cute guy in a cheerleading uniform' and well, I'm here."

Kurt blinked in surprise, and Blaine felt more irrational panic seep into his system – this guy was _gay_.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name." Kurt stuck out a hand. "And for official introduction's sake – my name is Kurt Hummel."

"Jake Crander." A smooth, uncallused hand gripped Kurt's, and Blaine winced as they made contact. "Sarah's my sister, and this isn't exactly the way I would have liked us to meet."

Kurt tilted his head, and along with the odd sensation surrounding his heart, a sick rumbling came to life low in his belly, twisting and growing as Kurt spoke with a degree of interest, "I wasn't aware . . . that is, I assume you aren't a native of Lima?"

Jake shook his head. "No, not anymore – I go to ISU, Indiana State, over in Terre Haute. Just visiting my family for the summer."

Kurt huffed a quiet laugh. "Naturally. I suppose anywhere would better than Lima, though I myself have great aspirations for New York."

"Make it there, and make it anywhere, right?" Jake was arching an eyebrow, smiling wide and invitingly, and he _totally_ made the cheesiness of that line _work_ for him. Blaine was feeling all sorts of things now – none of them good, most of them involving getting Kurt away, _fast_. It was unfair that he'd had to deal with _two_ gay guys checking out his boyfriend – he was well within his rights to hide Kurt away from them, wasn't he? "So, want to grab a coffee now that you've wowed everyone here and acknowledged your groupies?"

There were several gasps from behind and around him. Blaine felt his world tilt dangerously on its axis. This boy – no, this _man_ – who was everything Blaine _wasn't_, had just asked his beautiful, wonderful boyfriend out, and of course, why _wouldn't_ he? Kurt was stunning in so many ways. Jake hadn't even glanced Blaine's way, didn't view him as a threat – and why _would_ he? Blaine was clearly out of Kurt's league, and _short _and at times so _obtuse_ when it came to the wants and needs of his boyfriend – his lizard brain, newly discovered, reared up and hissed in his mind: _How dare this jackass try and take Kurt from me!_

In a whirl of panic and anger, he opened his mouth to ream the guy out (or just beg him to leave and never come back), but Kurt cut him off, shaking his head as he spoke, "While I appreciate the offer, I'm here with my boyfriend." And once again, Blaine's hand was clasped in Kurt's. Kurt gifted him with his widest, sweetest smile. A cool, soothing relief quenched the burning in his veins and chest, eased the nausea in his belly. Blaine gave him a dopey smile back.

Jake started, turning to _finally_ look at Blaine, and then to his sister, who was fidgeting and blushing. He levelled her with a stern glare before returning his gaze to Kurt, looking apologetic.

"Right. Well, my assumption that no one in Lima would have the smarts to snatch you up is now totally blown out of the water." Jake extended a hand over to Blaine, who shook it politely. "You're a lucky guy."

"Noted," Blaine said with a wide grin. "And you have good taste."

Kurt was surprisingly unembarrassed by the exchange, no hint of a blush on his face. He smiled good-naturedly at Sarah, and shot the now giggling Tanya and Grace a knowing wink.

"It was good to meet you, Jake," Kurt said graciously, tugging on Blaine's hand. He walked over to the two girls who were whispering to each other and blushing as they glanced at Kurt and Blaine's joined hands. Kurt leaned in and said in a low voice for only their ears, "Tanya, Grace – track me down on Facebook, I'd be happy to add you as friends."

The beaming smiles that he received at that statement could have easily outshone the sun. Kurt faced the New Directions. "Hey guys, I'm taking off with Blaine – meet up later at Breadstix?"

"Text me, and we'll let you know!" Mercedes called as she walked away, pressed in close to Sam's side.

"Keep the wankiness to a minimum, boys," Santana yelled for all within earshot. "Unless you're going to tape it and share with the rest of us."

Blaine opened his mouth to reply, but Kurt pulled him away before he could shoot back a witty rejoinder. He pouted at being deprived, but Kurt was leading off to the parking lot and he now got to have some private time with his boyfriend. And his cheerleading uniform. He tried to keep the leer off his face, but he wasn't sure that he was entirely successful.

"You okay?" Kurt asked as they finally broke free of the crowds, walking at a more leisurely pace.

Blaine nodded. "Why do you ask?"

Kurt shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "No reason. You seemed tense during that whole thing with Jake. I just felt the need to make sure you weren't feeling any . . . jealously."

He scoffed, though Kurt had hit the nail right on the head. "Of course not. I just didn't want _you_ to feel uncomfortable, is all. He was older, and clearly into you." It was a weak excuse, but he coupled it with a soft smile and clasping Kurt's fingers affectionately while he pretended to _not care_ that some college guy, with way better looks and far more experience, had hit on his boyfriend, who had never really encountered any other gay guys except for Blaine and Karofsky.

Thinking of the football player had his insides twisting up all over again, so he pushed on, nudging Kurt's shoulder with his own. "So, what's the plan?"

"We go to my currently empty house," Kurt recited as he paused in front of a shop window, tilting his head at the mannequin in the display. Blaine liked the shirt it was wearing – it was a gorgeous sapphire colour he could see his boyfriend pulling off wonderfully. "And we take advantage of said emptiness. And I change out of this sweaty uniform."

Blaine had instantly opened his mouth to object, when Kurt shot him a sly grin. "Though I could leave that last part up to you. I can change before or _after_ we have our alone time. It's Warbler's choice." Blaine shut his mouth, his cheeks warming under Kurt's perceptive stare. His boyfriend nodded once, looking distinctly smug. "That's what I thought."

He couldn't help but roll his eyes at Kurt's obvious self-satisfaction, but he didn't voice a single objection either. He couldn't and didn't want to. Glancing around them, and seeing no one in particular close by or looking towards them, he leaned to give Kurt a quick peck on the cheek. "You're far too good to me."

_Finally_, there was a hint of pink to Kurt's features, but the smirk was also firmly in place. Kurt returned the peck, brushing his lips against Blaine's temple. "Yes, yes I am."

Blaine laughed, pushing against Kurt's shoulder harder this time. A throat clearing behind them interrupted their moment. They both turned around simultaneously to see a boy – probably around their age – with gorgeous olive skin and warm dark brown eyes. He smiled widely at Kurt, and totally ignored Blaine.

Blaine blinked, and glanced from Kurt to the boy and back again. _Wait . . . are you kidding me?!_

"Hi." His voice was a little rough as he spoke, but steady and confident. "My name's Daniel, and I was hoping I could catch you before you headed out."

Kurt gave Blaine a rueful smile before saying, "Listen, I appreciate any compliments to do with the performance, but I really have to go –"

"In that case, let me be quick – you're really, _really_ hot and I'd like to offer you my number."

Blaine's jaw dropped and his ire rose yet again. With some effort, he held back an incredulous, snappish remark, closing his mouth and gritting his teeth. Kurt held his hand tightly while laughing. "Wow, that's forward of you. And flattering. But this lovely boy you see next to me is my boyfriend, so I really can't accept."

Daniel flicked his eyes towards Blaine, appraising him quickly and looking rather unimpressed, if not _disdainful_. Blaine didn't really know what to do with all the irritation and anger he was feeling – he'd never felt this way before – and this was the _third_ time today. First with Karofsky, then with that _Jake Crander_, and this, this _Daniel_, and really, it was too much.

"Hm, well, that's . . . nice. But you know, let me give it to you anyways – in case you're not exclusive or you happen to . . . move on. To better things," he said with a flirty, easy-goingness to his tone. Though it was obvious he was being _serious_. And that was _**it.**_

"Excuse me," Blaine interjected quietly before Kurt could react. "But this most certainly is an _exclusive_ relationship, and even if he were to move on to better things, those _better things_ would most definitely _not_ be you. So back off before you embarrass yourself further."

He was proud of himself for not raising his voice or threatening violence like every instinct in him was _screaming_ to do. The shameless Casanova stared at Blaine in surprise, and looked over to see Kurt mirroring his expression – eyebrows up, mouth slightly parted. He snorted to himself and arched an eyebrow at Blaine. "All right, munchkin." Blaine bristled at that. "I'll back off. But get used to this happening _a lot._ You're dating way, _way_ above your level and someday _he's_ gonna realize that."

He shot Kurt one last infuriating smile before walking away. Blaine fumed silently to himself, swallowing down a vicious parting shot. The nerve of these, these _bastards_ ogling his boyfriend, or _asking him out_ while he was standing _right next to him_. It made him want to do something ridiculous and caveman-like – lock Kurt away, or make him wear a sign or something, declaring him _off the market,_ because he was _Blaine's boyfriend_. He exhaled a shaky breath, trying to calm himself down, with little success. In this short afternoon, he'd experienced a whole new host of unpleasant emotions, and it was hard to deal with them all at once.

"Blaine," Kurt pulled at his hand. "C'mon, let's go."

Blaine inhaled deeply, concentrating on letting go of his indignation and of his (he could admit it now) _jealously_. He followed Kurt, allowed himself to be dragged, not to the parking lot, but another quiet alcove, this one leading off to a maintenance room. He waited, expecting Kurt to ask about or lightly tease him for what just happened, but instead he bit his lip, eyes shining brightly and seemed to gather his thoughts before speaking.

"I got cornered by this reporter right after we finished performing. She pushed her way into our victory huddle, and started asking questions about us, about Coach Sylvester, about me, about my 'lucky girlfriend' . . . And now that I think about it, I swear she was eying me up. Which is creepy, because I'm sure the woman was about Carole's age."

Blaine groaned, because _of course_, there would _women_ after Kurt too. He failed to see why Kurt was suddenly telling him this. "Okay. And I assume you said 'no comment' or something to that effect?"

Kurt's smile was sudden and beautiful. He let go of Blaine's hand, only to wrap an arm around his waist, drawing him in, wrapping his other arm around his back when he was close enough. He nuzzled his nose against Blaine's, answering in a soft voice, "Actually, when she asked if any of the Cheerio girls were my girlfriend, I very politely told her no, but that my _amazing, awesome, talented boyfriend_ – lead singer in his glee club – was here to support me." Kurt grinned, blushing and pulling Blaine even closer. He felt his spirits rising, and his own grin coming back, even as Kurt's lips brushed against his own, whispering, "I doubt that will make the air, but I put it out there for worldly consumption all the same. If I could take out an ad in every local and national newspaper proclaiming this, I would – and were it not entirely classless, I would have someone write it out in smoke across the sky or . . ."

Blaine wanted to hear more, he really did, but those lips just had to be kissed – this boy needed to be held and made out with, as often as possible, and it was his duty to do this. One he adhered to as frequently as he could, with great gusto and pleasure. Kurt inhaled deeply before sliding his tongue across Blaine's lower lip, and Blaine parted his mouth quickly, allowing Kurt to slip inside and they had both gotten to be _so good_ at this. One of Blaine's hands was slipping down, down along Kurt's side, across his hips, so few layers between his hands and that skin and _that uniform_.

Kurt pulled away far too quickly, with a slick, wet sound that had Blaine whining a little. He opened his eyes to meet Kurt's from across the short distance between them. Those gorgeous eyes were bright with happiness, and Kurt let Blaine lean back slightly, though he didn't loosen his hold on him at all.

"I would've thought this goes without saying, but I'm _yours_, Blaine Anderson," Kurt said breathlessly. "And while seeing you all possessive and jealous was both satisfying and rather . . . _attractive_, it's really very much _unnecessary_."

Blaine dropped his head onto Kurt's shoulder. "I know that, I do. But I can't help feeling protective of my claim. You're quite the catch, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt laughed. "So are you, Blaine."

Blaine pressed his lips to Kurt's neck, inhaling the faint scent of sweat, cologne and deoderant. It was inherently boy, and specifically _Kurt_, which was perfect and comforting, and all things right in the world. He kissed the pale skin under his mouth one more time, lingering long enough to feel a slight tremor from the body he was wrapped around, before pulling back and grinning teasingly. "You seem to have become pretty comfortable with your status as a hottie."

"Ah, you have no one to blame but yourself for that," Kurt said primly, though his cheeks bore a familiar pink stain across them. "You've been doing nothing but boosting my confidence and ego for the past five months. I may even seek a modelling career – clearly this beauty must be shared with as many as possible."

"As long as you're mine first, and theirs only to stare at from afar, I can be okay with having a famous model for a boyfriend," Blaine agreed easily. "But no live shows, okay? I don't think I could handle that many people drooling over you at once. Especially if they try and ask you out afterwards."

"Hazards of that kind of career, darling," Kurt said with a wave of his hand. "Get used to it."

"In that case, can I have my shy, self-conscious boyfriend back, please?" Blaine let out an undignified giggle as Kurt poked him in the side a few times. They stood there, wrapped up in each other, grinning inanely.

Eventually, Kurt disentangled their limbs. "Let's go – we only have a couple of hours before my dad and Carole get back and I want you to myself. At least three girls were checking you out on our way out of this place, and I feel the need to assert my claim on you too."

Blaine blinked. "Really? When was this?"

Kurt glanced back at him as they reached the parking lot at last. "Oh Blaine, you really didn't notice?"

"I was too busy alternating between being jealous about that stupid Jake and . . . Daniel." It was on the tip of his tongue, to mention Karofsky. He should, maybe, tell Kurt about that conversation, about the fact that the jock had some kind of crush on Kurt, despite ditching him on the floor at prom.

"Blaine?"

They had reached their cars, parked with two spaces between them. Kurt was watching him curiously. "What's got you so serious all of a sudden?"

Blaine worried his lower lip for a moment, considering what to say. He shook his head once, smiling brightly. "Nothing – just contemplating the many options we have for our afternoon. I don't suppose that outfit comes with pom-poms?"

Kurt reached out to smack him on the shoulder, but Blaine ducked away, laughing as he sought refuge in his car.

"Just for that I won't show you my backbend!" Kurt called as Blaine opened his driver side door. "And you'll miss out on the cheer I wrote for you!"

Blaine shut the door, rolling down the window to call back, "C'mon Kurt – red and black pom-poms – one little jump with those in hand, and I'm yours!"

"You're already mine, Blaine." Kurt was in his own car now, having rolled down the passenger side window to reply and blow a kiss to Blaine, a full-blown, teeth-and-all smile on his face. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

_Me either_, he thought to himself, grinning at the cheesy sentiment, loving that Kurt felt the same.

For whatever reason, his mind brought up an image of Karofsky, looking pained and so alone as he told Blaine that he couldn't quite let go of Kurt. His fist clenched in his lap reflexively, and he could acknowledge his jealously rather easily now, but he was also nervous and scared, and wondering if hiding this from Kurt was really the best thing. They prided themselves on being completely honest with one another, and this was something he knew Kurt would tell him about if the situation was reversed, no question.

Blaine exhaled slowly as Kurt began pulling out of his space. He would have to tell him eventually; Kurt deserved and needed to know, and Blaine could not lie to his boyfriend about something that directly affected him. He'd never be able to feel comfortable around him if he did that. While he didn't feel that Karofsky was a danger (anymore), perhaps between Blaine and Kurt they could figure out a constructive way to help the other boy.

But was it so selfish of him to want a quiet, drama-free afternoon with a sexy, cheerleading uniform-clad Kurt?

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he jumped, receiving the call from Kurt with a smile, putting him on speakerphone as he finally turned on the engine of his car.

"Hey, sorry, I just spaced out for a bit," Blaine said as he looked over his shoulder, pulling out slowly.

"Just making sure – I didn't see you following me, and I got worried for a second that you were bailing."

"Never," Blaine said passionately, eyes widening. "I'm right behind you, just give me a sec to catch up."

"Hurry," Kurt breathed out into the phone before hanging up, and Blaine whimpered out an embarrassing sound at that whispery tone. He should never had admitted to Kurt how much that got to him – it was a weakness Kurt shamelessly exploited whenever he could.

He exited the parking lot a little faster than the speed limit signs directed, and caught sight of Kurt's Navigator at a red light. He honked once to let Kurt know he was nearby and ready to tail behind him.

At this point, he could honestly say he'd follow this boy to the ends of the earth, if that's what it took to keep him all to himself.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note:** Hi everybody! *waves* You've been fabulous, and patient, and here I am . . . with half an epilogue. Sorry, it got away from me, length-wise, but I'm working my tail off to get that second part up (ideally, I'd like to post it before Glee airs on Tuesday, but I very much doubt I'll make it . . . I still have readings to do for school, which I've naturally not touched D:). **JustYourAverageRavenclaw** and **1stkitty** - I tried to incorporate your ideas into the next half :) I know you probably didn't have any expectations on that front, but inspiration struck and I did my best to listen to it.

Thank you again for everything - for favouriting, alerting, and especially reviewing - this has not been a good year for me, so far, but you guys have been wonderful at making me forget that :D

OH, also, I've recently figured out how to do the LiveJournal thing (albeit barely), and you can find me on there, under this same author name - I'll try to post this part on LJ soon :)


	11. Epilogue, Part 2

**Important note: **The final half of this chapter makes this story **M**-**rated**. If that isn't for you, don't read the section headed by _Late August 2011. _Also, it's my first sort-of smut. *blushes*

It's horribly long too, fair warning – I could've split it into two, but I was very much attached to the idea of a two-part (two months of summer) epilogue. And enough random chatter: here it is!

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_**Epilogue, Part 2: . . . Close to You**_

_Early August 2011_

"Why are we doing this again?" Blaine asked, frowning at his reflection as he tried to adjust the tight, thin sweater he was wearing. His parents always had the AC cranked to the max during the summer, something that thrilled Kurt, because it meant he could wear his layers and not have to worry about sweat stains.

His boyfriend appeared in the reflection next to him, straightening his bow tie. "Because your mom and Carole decided that now would be a good time to try again. I think my dad and your dad have had enough time to cool off, don't you think?"

Blaine wasn't so sure about that. His mom had scheduled their first family dinner in the week following prom, after the horrendous Prom Queen prank had happened.

While Kurt had turned around and _made_ his prom everything that it should have been, Blaine had still come home feeling ragged and hurt on his boyfriend's behalf, something his mother had noticed. He'd told both his parents the truth of it all, though he'd cheered up significantly in the telling and showed them with pride the picture of he and Kurt together, Kurt rocking his tiara and sceptre like no one else could (including the glorious Kate Middleton).

He took his father's willingness to change for granted at times – forgot that it meant that he was _trying_ to change, not that he _had_ changed. Consequently, he'd missed what he now realized was discomfort at Kurt's outfit, and the worry in his eyes when Blaine described the horrible treatment Kurt had been putting up with before his friends stepped up to make the school a safer (albeit not necessarily more accepting) environment.

Blaine learned at the worst possible time that his dad wasn't quite all the way there yet.

_"It's the damned principal's fault," Burt Hummel had growled out as they all finished off the main course – a divine roasted chicken and several side dishes, all lovingly prepared by Kurt and Carole._

_Kurt rolled his eyes at his father's gruff and angry tone. "Calm down, dad. It's over, it's done with, and I only have one more year left."_

_"Doesn't make it right." Burt sighed. "But fine, I'll drop it for now."_

_Blaine's mother had been standing to start gathering dishes, Kurt and Carole trying to stop her, which somehow turned into Carole and his mom convincing Kurt to sit down, which he did, looking a little bewildered as to the how and why. Blaine couldn't help but to laugh at his boyfriend, who elbowed him, inciting a wince, though he smiled throughout, capturing the hand of the arm that tried to elbow him again. He was tempted to raise it to his lips, brush a kiss across Kurt's knuckles, but he settled for simply clutching it tightly in his own._

_"I'm super pissed I was kicked out of prom though." Finn had been sitting next to Blaine's mother, and had been nothing but his kind and unassuming self, though Blaine knew the boy didn't think highly of Blaine's father. "There's no way that should have happened. I mean, what the hell was Figgins thinking, reading out your name?"_

_Kurt breathed out heavily through his nose. "I don't know, Finn, I haven't spent much time thinking about it – all I know is that I held my head high, and I got to dance with my boyfriend. Now can we all,_ please_, not talk about this anymore?"_

_"Sorry, son." Burt reached over, putting an arm across the back of Kurt's chair. "It's just something that riles up your brother and I but good. And you know I keep the flamethrower primed and ready. You just give me the word."_

_"Because arson is the answer to all of life's problems," Kurt said sagely, raising an eyebrow at his father. "Thanks, dad."_

_He said that last part without a hint of teasing, and the smiles that all three Hudson-Hummel men exchanged were full of familial affection. Blaine looked towards his father, who sat stiffly at the table, a frown on his face. When he caught Blaine's eye, he sighed, flicking his gaze back and forth between Blaine and Kurt, saying in a wearied voice, "Is McKinley really all that improved, Kurt? I haven't had the opportunity to ask you this, but ever since Blaine told me about your prom . . . I'm sure Dalton would be glad to have you back for your senior year."_

_Kurt shook his head. "I'm sure they would, Mr. Anderson. But I belong at McKinley. My friends – they're like my family, and I want to see high school through with them. They're trying to make it a safe place for me, and it is. Safer." _But not completely_, Blaine thought to himself, fingers tightening around Kurt's. "I know that doesn't preclude verbal teasing, and pranks of that nature, but I guess it's no worse than what I'll have to face in the real world as well."_

If you're gay, life's just going to suck_, Blaine recalled, bitterly and with resignation. He was safe at Dalton from almost every type of abuse. If anyone had any issues with his orientation (and he knew, realistically speaking, there had to be a few), he never heard a word about it. No one amongst the Warblers thought that way, he was certain._

_"Don't get so down, Kurt, the world's changing a little bit every day," his boyfriend's dad said softly, his own eyes hopeful and yearning. Blaine nodded along with this statement, and wished his mom would hurry back – but she and Carole had hit it off fairly quickly, and were probably having a glass of wine or something, talking without the men present._

_"In the meantime, I'll keep trying to bring a touch of class and fashion to the slushie-stained walls of McKinley High," Kurt said with a half-smile. "I've spotted a few fashion-forward freshman imitating my vest and shirt combinations. It's heartening."_

_"You dress like this at school?" Blaine's dad said incredulously, gesturing at Kurt's current outfit – tight crème-coloured trousers, a striped top with a plunging neckline that revealed a burst of purple undershirt that matched his belt, and knee-high black boots._

_Almost as soon as he'd said them, Blaine was wincing at his father's words. He knew his dad probably hadn't meant it the way it sounded, but he could both feel and see Burt's gaze sharpen, and Kurt sat up a little straighter in his chair. Finn froze while reaching for the jug of juice, and then slowly retracted his hand, mouth open and eyes wide._

_Kurt was wearing that blank expression Blaine had become familiar with – the cautious, unwilling to reveal what he's thinking approach to situations where things could go either way. "I dress how I like to dress, Mr. Anderson. I've never worn anything inappropriate – okay, well, there was that one time with the corset, but it's not like I was showing vast amounts of skin or anything."_

_Right then, Blaine had sort of lost track of what was going on again because _Kurt had a corset_? Why had he not known this? He had to physically shake himself to prevent his mind from conjuring up images he just knew he'd be indulging in later tonight – assuming he wasn't at the hospital, with his father being attended to by several doctors._

_Because he could see Burt Hummel gearing up for a fight, and Blaine knew his father would lose, badly, if it came to that._

_His dad seemed to sense this, leaning back in his seat, but for whatever reason, he kept going. "I realize that, Kurt, but when Blaine showed me your prom picture, I . . . I presumed you were making a statement for that particular event and that it wasn't your . . . personal and typical dress code for school."_

_Blaine remembered the way his father had smiled when Kurt had said that his 'fabulousness could not be stifled.' That had been a few weeks ago – was his dad regressing or something? He'd been so understanding. Before Blaine could stop himself, he blurted out, "Dad, you knew all this already – you heard Kurt tell you that he's everything you've seen him be, all the time, without fail. And you said you understood. That you respected him for it. What's going on?"_

_His father looked pained. "I'm sorry. Kurt, I meant no disrespect. Of course I know you are yourself, and that you're proud of it. However, I assumed that you . . . toned things down when you were at school. Made yourself less of a target." His own hands clenched into fists on the table and he actually glared at Burt somewhat belligerently, as if challenging him to take this up a notch. Blaine had seen his father throw a punch before, and the rising tension had him wondering if he was about to see it again. Though this time, he very much did not want it to happen._

_He bit his lip, darting a glance towards his boyfriend and his boyfriend's dad. Both of them looked unhappy, Burt on the angry side of that scale, Kurt leaning towards upset._

_"There's no way for me to hide what I am," Kurt said softly. "Therefore I see no reason to 'tone things down.' It would be for their benefit, not mine. And I refuse to give them any concession, of any kind."_

_"Kurt didn't used to dress this way," Burt interceded at last, his voice level, but barely. "In his freshmen year, I remember he dressed a lot like Finn does now, with the plaid shirts and what not. It didn't matter – they still pushed him into lockers and called him names. Eventually he just . . . started being honest with himself, and the next year, he started acting more like himself, and he came out to me and . . . it don't matter, it's never mattered what he looks like."_

_"But he's risking so much more than a loss of identity," Blaine's father insisted, his hands spreading opening now, imploring. Blaine relaxed as his father's determination eased into a sort of pleading. "These types of people, they see it as a challenge, as an affront to their well-ordered universe – of course things like what happened at the prom are going to occur if Kurt's going to deliberately –"_

_A hand slammed down hard onto the table, and everyone jumped. Burt was slowly standing and his glare was positively lethal. Blaine knew he was crushing Kurt's hand, but he could not let go for the life him, and to his immense gratitude, Kurt wasn't trying to pull away. But he was leaning into his father, his other hand resting on the man's arm in a calming gesture. Blaine didn't think it was working, but when Burt Hummel spoke next, it was coolly._

_"I don't think you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting, because I would have to throw you out of my house. Generally speaking, I'm not all that bad mannered, whatever my kid might say. But if you're trying to tell me that my boy is at fault for all the abuse those ignorant little assholes heap on him, we're going to have problems, you and me. He went to that prom with a kilt on, and I thought maybe some jocks were going to rough him up. I told him as much, because I was scared for him. But what happened . . . they'd planned that before they ever saw his outfit." He looked down at Kurt's pale hand on his arm, and he lifted one his own large hands to cover it, squeezing it gently. He lifted his eyes back to Blaine's dad, intent and unforgiving._

_"It would have happened if he'd shown up in a plain tux, or in a white dress. It would have happened if he'd ended up taking Mercedes as his date, or gone stag. It doesn't matter, it never matters, because it's blind hatred, and there isn't a damned thing any one of us can do about it."_

_Carole and Blaine's mother had re-entered at some point during Burt's speech, though he wasn't sure when. He was too busy feeling a jumble of things that made him wish he was anywhere but here – that he and Kurt were anywhere but here. His father opened his mouth, closed it again, and then tried once more, but before he could get any words out, Blaine's mother intervened, coming to sit down next to her husband, a hand on his shoulder, the other wrapping around one of his hands._

_"Bernard," she said softly. "I need you to think about what you've just said. And then I need you to go back to the night when Blaine was . . . attacked."_

_Finn flinched, hard, and Blaine met his shocked expression with a weak smile. Burt and Carole didn't react with any kind of surprise, which meant that Kurt had mentioned it to his parents. He was grateful that this wasn't news to them – it wasn't something he wanted the world to be aware of, but he didn't mind Kurt's family knowing._

_"Belinda –" His dad sounded pained, tired, and Blaine remembered him, all rumpled and red-eyed, next to Blaine's hospital bed, holding his hand so lightly, thumb stroking the inside of his palm._

_"No, I want you think about what Blaine was wearing, what Javier was wearing – about the fact that the Guevara's dropped them off, and were going to pick them up. They went as friends, they danced only in a large group of their other friends and nothing they did called attention to what they are. Other than the fact that they were there. That they were who they are. And they were still attacked. Just like Kurt was."_

_It was a long tense moment, and everyone was watching Blaine's father absorb these words. Kurt's dad was still standing, and Kurt was still clutching his arm. Carole had come to stand at Finn's side, and the taller boy glanced up at his mother, who smiled reassuringly down at him._

_Blaine's father stood up abruptly, and he stared over at Kurt and Blaine, inhaling and exhaling deeply. He turned to Burt, pressing his lips together for a moment. "I'm sorry, Burt. Sometimes, I don't think before I speak, and there's a lot I apparently haven't come to terms with. Understand that I was reacting out of concern for both my son and yours."_

_"And my wanting to punch your face in was for the same reason," Burt said indifferently. "I get that you're trying, for Blaine's sake, but I'm thinking you need a little more time before we can try this family dinner thing again."_

_His mom stood up, holding his dad's hand, offering Carole a sincere look that was both grateful and apologetic. "We'll go then, and we're glad that we managed this much, at least. Kurt, you are a truly gifted cook. Blaine, we'll see you at home, tomorrow afternoon, all right?"_

_Blaine nodded wordlessly as his parents began to make their way to the front door. He sat motionless in his seat, not sure if he should go over and say something, even if it was just 'good night,' or show his support for Kurt and his dad. But then again, his father was trying hard, so hard, and he hadn't said anything deliberately offensive. He was just worried – so worried that he or Kurt could end up in a hospital, or worse, and Blaine couldn't blame him for that._

_He rushed over to the door, taking the time to hug his mother and grip his father's hand firmly in good-bye. The surprised look on his father's face was quickly overrun with gratitude. He squeezed Blaine's shoulder with his free hand. He didn't say anything, but he did smile wanly, and then he was gone._

_Blaine stood there, unsure what to do now – he heard Carole speaking softly with Burt, and Finn rounding up the dishes. He turned, ready to brave the discomfort of being around them after this disaster of a dinner._

_Kurt had been waiting right behind him, and he enveloped Blaine in his own hug, close and comfortable. When they separated, he tilted his head towards the stairs – clearly Carole and Burt were excusing them from clean-up. He was smiling half-heartedly. "Well, like my dad said, I suggest we wait a while before trying that again."_

The thing was that Blaine wasn't sure if it had been long enough of a 'while.' He really didn't want his and Kurt's father having a throw-down in the middle of dinner.

Kurt pivoted around to face him and helped in adjusting his checkered sweater, smoothing out any wrinkles Blaine had caused with his nervous fidgeting. It was nice, and it eased the build-up of tension in his muscles as Kurt kept smoothing his hands over Blaine's chest, his eyes that subtle more-grey-than-blue/green shade. Blaine didn't associate any particular emotion with Kurt's changing eye colours – that had more to do with the degree of light in a room, or what colour his clothes were on any given day – but he was endlessly fascinated by how they could shift from green to blue to grey, or any combination thereof. And he may or may not have written ludicrously corny odes to them in his head. (He swore to himself he would never, _ever_ write them down. Ever. Or set them to music . . . anymore than he had already had. Really. One ballad was all. And not written down. Or sung out loud.)

"I think that not only is everything going to be just fine, but that your father has improved quite a bit in these past couple of months – and that he's willing to try again after what happened last time, is fairly indicative of his willingness to keep on improving." Kurt smiled encouragingly at Blaine, his hands still moving in soothing circles on his chest. He may not have been one hundred percent convinced that this night wouldn't end in tears and regrets, but Kurt would be there, right next to him for all of it, and that was enough to have him sighing out what was left of his fear and anxiety.

It also allowed his mind to shift gears from nervous to a different but ultimately better kind of nervous, because those pale, long fingers were trailing all over his torso, and he would always find Kurt touching him to be very, very good. He inhaled deeply, capturing those roaming hands in his own. "Okay, mission accomplished – now you need to stop before I do something highly inappropriate."

"Oh? I wasn't aware I was eliciting such thoughts." Kurt was all innocent looks and parted lips, and Blaine was not buying it. He rolled his eyes and leaned in, only slightly, but it was enough for Kurt's eyes to flutter shut and a brief, but oh-so-smug expression to flit across his features. Blaine leaned back just as their lips brushed.

Kurt opened his eyes and frowned at him. Blaine grinned. "You are a tease, Kurt Hummel. You know perfectly well we can't do _anything_, lest we ruin our wonderful, well-coordinated, flawless outfits and our equally fabulous hair."

His boyfriend crossed his arms, one hip jutting out, and it was stupidly hot, that pose, but Blaine was not starting something that would lead to them having to scramble to straighten up when the Hudson-Hummels got here. This evening already had the potential for so much pain and awkward, Blaine was not risking more.

"You are right, of course," Kurt said while examining his fingernails, his other hand resting on that jutting hip. "But I'm also not staying the night, and the next time we will have the opportunity to be alone together will be a whole week from today. _I_ am _perfectly_ capable of making out with my boyfriend without mussing him up. As you well know."

This logic was sound, and Blaine could feel himself weakening, especially with that almost-pout Kurt's lovely pink lips were forming, and they still had at least twenty minutes before Burt and the rest arrived . . . But no, _no_ he was so much more than his hormones (which were all screaming at him to grab that so-freaking-gorgeous-he-can't-be-real boy in front of him and kiss him absolutely, positively senseless). He shook his head at Kurt with a fond and regretful smile. "I love you and not a moment goes by where I don't want to be holding you or kissing you, but I really can't right now, Kurt."

Kurt's haughty, indifferent expression faded into something much more down to earth and touchable. "Of course, Blaine. Oh, do you think we can get in a little piano time before my family gets here?"

They were down in the basement, belting out an awesome rendition of Lady Gaga's _Speechless_ when they heard the loud and enthusiastic greeting of Blaine's mother for Burt, Carole and Finn.

Blaine's fingers fell off the keys and he swallowed hard, flicking his worried his gaze up to Kurt, who was looking up to the basement door, then back over to Blaine. He seemed to be at ease and his smile was so lovely, Blaine felt his breath catch in his throat. Kurt tilted his head towards the stairs. "C'mon. No sense hiding down here."

"No, though the idea does have its own unique appeal." Yet even as he spoke, he was rising from the piano bench, and moving next to Kurt, clutching his hand tightly. Kurt held his hand firmly in his own, but didn't move to head upstairs. Instead, he slowly, tenderly, cupped Blaine's cheek and jaw with one hand, bringing him in for a kiss so soft and loving that Blaine felt like he was floating, light-headed, light-hearted, light _everything_.

His eyelids flicked open slowly, staring into those (at the moment) baby blues, right across from his. Apparently, being in love with someone didn't mean simply _being in love_, so much as _falling in love_ over and over again, each time a little deeper than the last.

"Blaine! Kurt! Everyone's here – time for dinner!" Blaine's mother called from the top of the basement steps.

Blaine darted in to press one last kiss to Kurt's lips before leading the way up to what would hopefully be a nice, relatively normal and not at all violent or humiliating family dinner.

And it was. For the most part. There was some awkwardness in the beginning. There were some suspicious, not at all subtle questions from Burt as to how Blaine had been feeling, and _how's your summer going, kid?_ as if he didn't know, since Blaine was at his house as often as he could make the drive. Blaine was in knots all throughout – loving that Burt Hummel, the coolest man on the planet, cared enough about him to be like that, be protective. Hurt on behalf of his father because the man was _truly_ making an effort. But even with that undercurrent, everything moved right along, with his mom and Carole holding up the conversation, along with Kurt and Finn jumping in now and then – as a result, things got easier.

But also, mortifying.

"Blaine, son, do not play with your food like that," his dad scolded mildly. "I swear, I haven't seen you do that since you were seven and we had to keep you from putting on _concerts_ with your cutlery and vegetables."

"Dad!" Blaine was horrified, both by his whiny teenaged response, and by the embarrassing reveal.

Kurt snorted daintily into a napkin, teasing smirk already in place. "Oh, Blaine – let me guess, the broccoli was always the lead singer, yes? Still your most hated green, I know. Also bearing a certain resemblance to your younger self. That hair, Blaine, that _hair_."

Blaine scowled at him, pushing his salmon to the far corner of his plate, where his peas lay mostly untouched. Burt was shaking his head from his seat next to his son.

"Kurt, I don't think you're in any position to be making fun of Blaine – you used to hide cauliflower in your shorts and slip asparagus up your sleeve. Or do you not remember when we were over at the Hendricks place and –"

"Dad, _no_!" Kurt whined, looking just as horrified as Blaine no doubt had a moment ago. Blaine's own horror diminished in the face of Kurt's blush and Finn's snort of laughter – which was soon cut off as Carole launched into Finn's own vegetable stories and all too quickly, the adults were laughing and trying to top each other's anecdotes, while the three teenage boys were cringing and sinking lower and lower in their seats.

But Blaine's burning need to hide under the table was second to the wonderfully welcome _relief_ he felt at seeing his father relax and joke with Burt and Carole. Kurt's own face was red, and he kept wincing, but when he looked over at Blaine, his smile was as happy as it could be.

The night was over when nearly every embarrassing story that could be told had been told (Blaine, Kurt and Finn had sworn, while the adults went into the backyard so Blaine's dad could show Burt the barbeque pit he'd built, that they would _never, ever_ reveal to _anyone_ any of the information that had been revealed tonight, under pain of gruesome and excruciating death.). Kurt was leaving with his family, and Blaine was so grateful and thrilled with the way the evening had passed, that he didn't even think twice about kissing Kurt good-bye. He lingered a little longer then he normally would in front of Kurt's parents, forgetting completely that he _never _did this in front of _his_ parents.

When he pulled away, that familiar nervousness making his insides contort unpleasantly, he turned to see his mother smiling and chatting with Carole, having totally missed it. His father had been watching, but he gave Blaine a half-smile and returned to saying his good-byes to Burt.

"I may drop by the garage sometime soon," he was saying. "I've found another car for Blaine and I to restore, but this one is in the worst shape I've ever seen – we may be basically building the thing from scrap. It's definitely a year-long enterprise, and we'll need a professional's guiding hand."

Blaine blinked in surprise, having not heard of this until that moment. His mother was smiling widely and exchanging significant looks with Carole.

Burt nodded, rubbing at his chin. "Sounds great. Lemme know the make and model, and we'll see about getting parts for you too. Kurt's here often enough to lend a hand, if you want him to – my boy is about as good as any certified mechanic in my shop."

To Blaine's unparalleled shock, his father's face broke into its own wide smile. "That's actually the next thing I was going to ask." He turned to Kurt, who was looking about as amazed as Blaine felt. "Kurt, I'd appreciate you taking a look at it, as Blaine and I go. Otherwise, I'm fairly certain it will end up looking like anything _but_ a car."

Kurt cleared his throat before speaking. "I'd be very happy to help, Mr. Anderson."

"Great – it's not going to be something to take away from time better spent doing homework, Blaine," his father said to him, eyes serious. "But whenever you and I have the time, we'll tinker away . . ." He seemed to want to say more, but let the sentence drift and end there. But Blaine could see that this was his way to replace the last car-building exercise. That it was his dad looking for ways for them to spend time with each other. That it was a way to breach the gap between him and Kurt, and _that_, more than anything, had Blaine riding a high he didn't think he would ever come down from.

He nodded wordlessly, incapable of saying much of anything, and watched as his dad and Kurt's dad shook hands. Finn thanked his parents for the meal, and gave Blaine a happy grin before following his parents out to the car. Blaine's mother leaned in to give Kurt a hug, kissing his cheek. "Have a good night, Kurt. Thank you for bringing dessert – it was absolutely delectable."

Kurt hugged her back, and Blaine saw the sparkle in his eyes as he pulled away, and then turned to Blaine's father, sticking out a hand. "Thank you for having all of us, Mr. Anderson."

Blaine's father shook Kurt's hand gravely. "No, _thank you_, and your family, for giving me a second chance, and for being the kind of man you are Kurt. It does me a world of good to know that Blaine is in your hands."

Blaine choked back some tears, holding them in with a smile and some fierce blinking. Kurt's sparkle became more of a telltale gleam, and his voice was slightly uneven as he said, "It's a real pleasure getting to know you. And Mrs. Anderson. Thank you for being so welcoming."

With that he turned to give Blaine a tight hug, whispering, "Call me in an hour – I love you." He left with one last wave, and as soon as his mother shut the door behind him, Blaine walked up to his father and wrapped him up in a hug – the first one he'd initiated guilelessly in almost two years.

His father hugged him back with all affection, though he said nothing. He pulled away after a few minutes, smiling gently down at Blaine and turning to walk into his study. Maybe he hadn't been as comfortable as he'd appeared to be, but Blaine knew, could _finally_ see that his father was getting better. He wiped at a lone tear that managed to escape.

His mother put a hand on his shoulder. "Blaine. Are you all right, sweetheart?"

He flashed his mother a smile, though his watery vision was making her blurry about the edges. "I'm perfect. In fact, I'm so perfect, I think I'll help you finish cleaning up the kitchen, and let you pick which playlist on my iPod we'll listen to."

She swept him up in an embrace before letting him go, laughing lightly. "Why don't you head on up to your room and text your boyfriend like I know you want to. I'll deal with the kitchen."

Blaine laughed too, but didn't even try to insist – he wanted desperately to share his overflowing joy with Kurt. _His_ Kurt. This was all because of him, and Blaine would be willing to bet his life on the fact that no one on earth was as lucky as he was when it came to love.

He reached his room and cell phone to find a text already waiting.

_As wonderful as this night was (terrifying childhood stories aside), I would like to say it could have been even better ;)_

Blaine raised an eyebrow, and then fired off a quick reply: _You're not texting while driving, are you?_

He could easily envision Kurt's eye roll accompanying the responding message: _No, dad, I'm not – Carole's driving me in my car, and Dad's driving his car with Finn._

He threw himself down against his pillows, now totally uncaring as to the state of his clothes or hair. Blaine settled himself comfortably on the bed Kurt envied so much, and sent back: _So what do you mean?_

He waited for a long pair of minutes, curious and ready to be highly amused. When Kurt finally finished and sent him his next message (which had split into four separate texts), Blaine read it, expecting to laugh out loud, and instead found himself gulping, his eyes fixing on his tiny screen, wide and unblinking.

_I mean that if you hadn't spent an hour fussing over your outfit, and then another hour stressing out about dinner, and then patently refused to let me kiss you while waiting . . . You could have easily gotten to second base, Blaine Anderson._

Blaine breathed out shakily – he and Kurt had discussed a lot about what was and wasn't comfortable for him. In one such conversation, Blaine had offhandedly mentioned the baseball metaphor, to which Kurt had instantly made a disapproving face. But, despite that, they'd spent a lot of time defining which bases meant what – and Kurt had designated their current status as first base. Second base would be anything involving fewer clothes and a lot more touching in a lot more places – they'd kept it vague, due to both of them turning redder and redder, covering their laps with pillows and fumbling over their words as they kissed between descriptions.

There were many places on Kurt that Blaine wanted to touch, had been ready to touch for a long time. And rub against. And press himself shamelessly to. Skin on skin contact wasn't even one hundred percent necessary, though it would doubtless be incredible. Now, he needed to stop and try to think of something to say back to Kurt, lest the other boy get self-conscious and worried about Blaine's lack of reply.

His fingers rested on his phone's keyboard, and he had no clue how to respond without sounding ridiculous and like every other horny boyfriend out there. His phone pinged with another text, and this one did make him laugh, though it hardly helped with his feeling distinctly hot under the collar.

_;) That is a slow and sexy wink sent your way._

He shook his head, biting his lip and then just going for it.

_I don't suppose we could negotiate a rain check – possibly for this coming weekend?_

There, that was fairly innocuous and not at all racy.

Kurt sent him back a teasing response:_ Maybe. Depends on how much alone time we get._

Blaine swallowed drily. His fingers were pressing keys and sending before he could really think about it.

_How much alone time will we need? What do you plan to do with me, Kurt Hummel?_

It was another long, long wait, and the reply had him groaning.

_I am in the car with my stepmother, Blaine – I refuse to discuss this now._

He shook his head, and sent back the only thing he could think of, considering the bloodless state of his brain: _You are evil. And I love you._

He sat up further, ready to slide off his bed and pull on some flannel pants and a ragged T-shirt. His phone pinged as he reached the edge of his mattress.

_I am a brilliant, fashionable, fabulously talented evil. Call me in about an hour and a half, and we can discuss the depths of my depravity ;) But no more. Carole's shooting me these creepy knowing looks and that is just . . . no._

Blaine laughed out loud again, and sent back his own 'slow and sexy wink,' while getting ready for bed.

In the end, their phone conversation didn't involve much elaboration on Kurt's newfound comfort with another level of physical intimacy. Instead, Kurt had been discussing the fact that Sam was moving away, and Mercedes was boyfriend-less after a brief summer love. Then, he moved on to the fact that they hadn't heard from Quinn since early July, and Kurt could have sworn he'd spotted her smoking outside the used-record store – Blaine couldn't believe that, not of Quinn, from what little he knew her. Kurt philosophically stated that one could never truly know a person, which Blaine argued against – and the conversation went on in a similar vein.

The next weekend, they didn't have the time or opportunity to do any thing beyond making out for half an hour. Furthermore, Kurt seemed nervous, though he maintained that he was ready – he just very much wanted to wait for a time when they could do more than rush the experience. Blaine accepted that easily; whenever Kurt was ready would be fine with him.

"We'd probably have more time and opportunity if you transferred to my school," Kurt pointed out as they lay next to each other on his bed, listening to his iPod on shuffle from the cool speakers Kurt owned.

"You really think that would be wise?" Blaine asked, tilting his head at him.

"I could come up with a million reasons why, Blaine," Kurt said with a teasing little smile. "But naturally, I would expect you to do what feels right for you at the end, and disregard any selfish impulses on my part."

"Come up with a million reasons – well, let's say ten. I'll hear them out." He gestured at their intertwined fingers. "You know I'd do anything for you."

"Yes, but only if you want to Blaine," Kurt said seriously. His smile came back, mischievous. "But I accept your challenge – ten reasons it is."

"Hey, Kurt! Blaine! I'm home! And I brought Mortal Kombat with me!"

Blaine sat up and pointed at the door. "Did you hear that? Get your butt out there, Hummel – I demand a re-match."

Kurt sat up as well, hands immediately flying to his hair, fixing nothing, because it was still weighed down with several cans worth of hairspray. "You're absolutely ridiculous, Blaine Warbler. I can not believe you are still taking that so very personally."

Blaine continued pointing to the door, implacable as he stood up, grim and determined. "No, no I am not. I played the original Mortal Kombat for _hours_ as a child. It's been my guilty pleasure since I was _seven_, and when the new one came out, I mastered it in under a week. What happened last time was a fluke. I _demand a re-match_."

Kurt snorted, his eyes dancing with glee. "I am so sorry I wounded your manly, gamer pride. But that game is just _button-mashing,_ Blaine. And disgusting. Some of those fatalities are _insanely disturbing_. I played for the sake of a bonding experience with Finn. It was mildly entertaining, and beating you both was a pleasant bonus. But I'm done."

Blaine widened his eyes, and stretched out his pointing hand to Kurt now, pleading, "Please, please, please. I need to reassert my Mortal Kombat mastery, and I can only do that if you allow me to beat you. Grind you into dust. Possibly even make you cry."

Kurt threw his hands up. "You're serious, aren't you? You are such a sore loser, Blaine. Give it up. I am better than you at this. I will rip your spine out. And in this game, that is a literal threat."

"You're not getting near me, Kurt Hummel. I'm totally _Flawless Victory_ing your ass."

Finn knocked on Kurt's door just then, poking his head in, eager and smiling. "C'mon Kurt, you were so boss at this last time. And, hey, Blaine, you too. It was fun watching you get owned."

Kurt raised both eyebrows, his expression all-knowing and now, competitive. "All right, Finn – we're coming. And I call dibs on Kitana."

Blaine let loose a whine – Kurt had taken him to pieces with her and her damned steel fans (again, in game context: literally).

They drifted into Finn's room, still arguing about what was fair and what wasn't; Finn was designated referee, and in the end, Kurt did take him to pieces. But Blaine managed _one_ Flawless Victory, at which point the argument became whether Kurt's seventeen wins were equivalent to Blaine's single perfect match. Finn wisely opted out of this heated discussion, and went downstairs to get some snacks.

As soon as Finn left, Blaine kissed Kurt to within an inch of his life, and was full of smug satisfaction as Kurt gaped at him wordlessly, soundlessly, and breathlessly afterwards. Finn returned with a tray full of cookies, chips, and some vegetables and dip for Kurt.

At which point Blaine beat Kurt in five straight matches, pressed right up next to him, their thighs touching. Blaine saw it as his boyfriend's just desserts for all the shameless cheating at Monopoly during the first few weeks of their relationship.

And if Kurt wasn't nearly so crushed by his stunning defeat as Blaine had hoped, that was fine. He was annoyed by Blaine's crowing, but it passed quickly – or so Blaine assumed, because following his thorough and indisputable loss, Kurt dragged Blaine back to his room, and proceeded to revenge himself with kisses deeper than any they'd ever shared, and hands that skimmed over _every inch_ of Blaine's clothed body. Blaine wondered dimly if now was the time to round that second base, but Burt and Carole arrived with dinner, and Kurt bounced up from the bed, fixing his rumpled clothes and still annoyingly perfect hair.

Blaine felt the need to make sure of one thing before they headed down the stairs. "Just to let you know, despite that rather spectacular display just now, I still won. You do know that, right?"

Kurt rolled his eyes but nodded. "Yes, Blaine, you won. You killed me in many grotesque and totally implausible ways. Congratulations."

Blaine laughed and hugged Kurt close. "Thank you for that, I know it wasn't how you wanted to spend your afternoon."

"It was more than fine, Blaine," Kurt said as they walked down. "And oddly satisfying. I may ask Finn if I can play that game more often."

"But not too often, right?" Blaine didn't want to think how good Kurt would get if he actually _practised_.

Kurt chuckled. "You are such a child. Don't worry, I am not interested in dethroning you. Though, you know, if you transfer to McKinley, I won't have to spend my evenings and the weekends you can't come over, trying to entertain myself by eviscerating digital characters."

"Seriously, that's your reason number two for my transferring?" Blaine shook his head. "Weak, Hummel."

"Well, consider what happened _post-game_, Blaine," Kurt said coyly, his eyelashes fluttering prettily. "And imagine the possibilities of _post-study session_, or _post-Glee practise_. Since we'd most likely retire here. To my house. And my bed."

Blaine spent the entire meal thinking of these possibilities, which he would never admit to Kurt. But the idea of having Kurt near him all day – and being able to come back to his house on the way home to his own – to have legitimate reasons to stay for homework and Glee practising – _practising. Like before Regional's_.

Blaine shook that off as Carole handed him a steaming plate of mashed potatoes. It couldn't be a snap decision, no matter how much he loved his boyfriend. He flashed Kurt a smile as the conversation drifted around them.

He considered not seeing Kurt on the first day school, smiling and accepting a cup of freshly purchased coffee, walking him to his first class . . .

_Oh, he may not even need to come up with eight more reasons_, Blaine realized as his heart protested mightily at the thought of separation._ But it'll definitely be fun to watch him do it._

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Late August 2011_

Blaine had never had a boyfriend before Kurt. He'd been kissed, and kissed back less than a handful of times in his childhood: mostly girls and one boy that never amounted to anything – so he'd never thought much of kissing in general, and the stuff that invariably followed it. When he'd hit that age where the hormones kicked in, and anyone male with long legs and a nice behind had him staring, he'd indulged in his fair share porn; this was mostly because, unlike other guys around him, he couldn't stare as openly as he wanted, couldn't flirt or make innuendos without risking at the least, cutting and disgusted remarks, and at the worst . . . Never mind the worst. The point was, aside from a vivid fantasy life where he married someone eerily similar to Ewan McGregor (but with a certain air of Neil Patrick Harris mixed in), he had no experience, no concept of what having a boy that was his, and only his, would mean or feel.

Now he did. It was _earth shattering._

Kurt (his _beautiful, wonderful, stunning_ boyfriend) was sucking a bruise high on Blaine's neck, while his fingers traced unknowable patterns onto Blaine's stomach, _beneath_ his shirt. His (_that's right, __**his**__, only his, just his_) boyfriend was braced above him, knees on either side of Blaine's thighs, and Blaine was trying to hold back not just a plethora of highly humiliating and loud noises, but also _tears_, because he'd never been so happy, so excited, so lost in sensation, and so grateful to have found _this_ boy. He was convinced that no other person on the planet could make him feel the way Kurt was making him feel. Not Ewan McGregor. Not Neil Patrick Harris.

"_Blaine_," Kurt breathed into his ear, finally releasing his neck after who knew how many insane minutes of sucking and licking and hints of teeth.

They'd had intense make out sessions, of course, before this late night. It had been a summer of kisses between work (Six Flags, for Blaine, the garage for Kurt), and short (_too_ short) afternoons when parents were at work, and Finn was out with Rachel, the two of them splayed out on Kurt's bed, all slow and leisurely for the little time they had.

But _this,_ this was _beyond_.

Kurt had called him at around six in the evening, quickly whispering that Carole had surprised his dad with a short weekend away (only to Columbus, for a night, and then a baseball game the next day before coming home) – and that they had just left. Finn was gone too, but Blaine hadn't really heard where, because Kurt was doing that low, husky voice thing again, and demanding that Blaine get in his car and come _right now_. Any and all rules flew straight out of Blaine's head.

Again, they'd had time alone before – their parents had allowed them to stay in each other's rooms, which was far more than many teenagers got, but Kurt and Blaine's sense of propriety and respect for the others in the household hadn't allowed them to risk more than those intense kisses that left Blaine sensitive and deliciously on edge (except for that one morning at his house, which Kurt was kind enough to never bring up again, because despite his boyfriend's sincere words, Blaine still felt the sting of embarrassment over it).

_Never_ had Kurt sounded so _turned on_. And desperate. And so uninterested in being proper and rule-abiding. Blaine might have actually stopped to think about that, but his brain wasn't at its reasoning best – except for figuring out how to obey Kurt's demand. Blaine couldn't rush out of his house right away, because despite how lax his parents were about him staying over at Kurt's home, that didn't mean they would automatically let him go over there with so little of a head's up. He wasn't going to risk them saying no, and for that reason he did something he never thought he'd do.

He snuck out.

Of course, he left a note in his room, on his bed, explaining where he was so they wouldn't worry, but it was risky – his note made it sound like he'd left incredibly early in the morning, as opposed to sneaking out at eleven thirty pm. If his parents happened to check on him in the middle of the night he would be caught dead to rights, but they never did, after saying good-night, so why would they start now?

It had been frightfully easy to do, though his heart pounded in his ears all through out. It was amazingly convenient that the garage was on the opposite end of the house from the bedrooms, because that meant that there was no way his parents would hear him leaving (especially since he knew they'd be 'watching a movie,' which was their euphemism for other activities he'd really rather not think about).

A late night meant empty roads, which meant he could put a small burst of extra speed on, and he ended up lucking out with a string of green lights as well, so he arrived in roughly fifty minutes.

He'd pulled into the driveway and walked up to the front door, clutching a messenger bag filled with pyjamas and clothing for the next day, and feeling as though his heart was about beat its way straight out of his chest. He knocked on the door gingerly, barely loud enough to be heard, but it swung open instantly to reveal his boyfriend, hair wet from a shower, standing a little on end from either combing it haphazardly, or running his fingers through it. His white shirt was damp around the collar, and his pants were low slung – everything was slightly twisted around his torso from . . . Who knew? Who _cared_?

Blaine had (just barely) stopped himself from pouncing on Kurt, and shut the door behind him.

Kurt had smiled, nervous but happy, giddy in fact, and taken his hand. "Before you say or ask me anything – _yes I'm sure_. I know you've known that for weeks, but I wasn't sure how to go about it, or when we could. Carole sprung this baseball thing on my dad, and my first thought was rather horribly, '_now, now, now_.' And you told me three months ago you were ready for more, and we've now been dating for six months, been friends for longer, so I figured you wouldn't object, despite the rule-breaking and everything – and you won't, right?"

Blaine shook his head rapidly, eyes wide. "Never. Yes, let's go and, um, what exactly . . ."

Kurt flushed but his smile was no longer nervous. "Nothing extravagant, I'm afraid, because I'm still not comfortable with nudity, but . . . can I take the lead for a bit?" His eyes darkened perceptibly in the dim lighting, and he stepped right up into Blaine's space, their chests brushing against each other's with their suddenly quick, uneven breaths. "I'd rather _show_ you than tell you."

And that was pretty much the end of Blaine's self-restraint. He yanked Kurt over the final few inches of space and kissed him hungrily, one hand tangling into those wet locks of hair, holding him in place so he could devour his mouth. Kurt gave as he good as he got.

Sometimes Blaine had trouble reconciling the put-together, sweet and adorable Kurt he saw on a daily basis, with this writhing, passionate creature in his arms, but there was no doubt in his mind that they were one and the same – he'd been privileged, _blessed_ with witnessing, _participating_ in Kurt's slow and steady acceptance of the physical side of their relationship.

This side of Kurt, currently licking his way into Blaine's mouth, was strictly for Blaine Anderson's consumption and damn if that wasn't the hottest thing ever to grace the planet.

They'd managed to make their way up the stairs with only two pauses to press one or the other against the wall and kiss them senseless. There had also been one scary moment where Blaine tugged Kurt a little too powerfully and almost sent them both careening down two flights. They'd giggled crazily then, and skipped the on-the-way-make-outs for a quick dash to Kurt's room. He watched Kurt shut the door. Blaine was licking his lips, feeling his fingers flexing, desperate for some skin contact.

When Kurt turned around to face him, he tilted his head, and pointed towards the bathroom. "I would . . . I think it would be best if we were both in pyjamas for this, and if you need . . . to freshen up?" Kurt bit his lip, gazing at Blaine imploringly.

As much as Blaine had wanted to throw himself onto the bed and let Kurt have his wicked way with him, he appreciated being given time to settle down a little, and he got the feeling that's what Kurt needed too. He had no idea how far, or even what exactly, Kurt wanted to do, but he did not want a repeat of _that_ morning, so he disappeared into the bathroom with a quick smile, clutching his messenger bag closely.

It had taken him less than five minutes to change, brush his teeth again for whatever reason, and then stare at himself in the mirror, breathing in deeply and regularly.

He walked back into the room to see Kurt sitting with his legs stretched out, back resting against his headboard. He looked relaxed, and smiled softly as Blaine sat down on the edge of the bed, his hip brushing Kurt's leg. They sat there, drinking each other in, silent and at ease. The quiet of the house, the knowledge that they had all night together, it soothed something in Blaine he hadn't realized needed soothing.

Eventually, Kurt reached out a hand and Blaine took it, allowing himself to be pulled until he was seated next to Kurt, turned into him slightly, draping an arm around Kurt's chest. They were close enough to be brushing noses when they turned to look at each other. That's when Kurt kissed him – light, tender, loving. Blaine shut his eyes tightly and simply let it happen – let Kurt love him with his mouth, all sweetness and sincerity, and he could have easily spent the entire night they had doing just that.

But Kurt pulled away and when Blaine opened his eyes to see why, it was because those eyes were dark again, and his breath caught as Kurt shifted until he was straddling Blaine, kneeling above him, staring down intently. Blaine tipped his head back in open invitation, knowing his own pupils were likely blown wide with want. Kurt bent in, brushing the lightest of kisses against his lips before parting his own, and swallowing Blaine's moans as his tongue slid against his. He pressed in harder, an edge of urgency as he pushed Blaine down, both of them sliding until Blaine was flat on his back and Kurt was above him, ravaging his mouth without pause, without mercy. Blaine whimpered and moaned and twisted as Kurt sucked and bit and kissed. His hands flew up to bunch up Kurt's shirt at his back, one of them entangling in Kurt's hair after a moment.

In that moment, Kurt had ripped his mouth away, latching onto Blaine's neck, his hands pressing further down from his shoulders, gliding onto his chest, his stomach, and then sliding underneath his shirt.

Kurt focused on that high spot on his neck, sucking hard enough to make him see stars and feel a euphoria so consuming, he couldn't imagine ever being unhappy again. Because Kurt _loved_ him, and _wanted_ him, and had been so scared of this but now he _wasn't_ and he was doing this with _Blaine_. None of his fantasies could compare, and porn was now so base and unreal compared with Kurt breathing his name in his ear, hot air sending shivers down his spine, bringing him back from his wanderings and wonderings of _how the hell did I get so lucky to be here, with him, right now?_ to actually being present and _so turned on it feels like dying from want_.

"_Blaine_," Kurt said again, and his hands were moving up, taking his shirt with them, exposing his stomach, his chest. "Let me take this off."

Blaine nodded dumbly, his mouth dry and his limbs oddly heavy and light all at once as he lifted his arms and let Kurt drag his shirt over his head and onto the bed next to them. He felt exposed, but calm, because this was Kurt, and that was all he needed to feel safe. Though that didn't stop him from flushing as his boyfriend stared, without touching, for so long that Blaine started squirming self-consciously. Kurt sat on his thighs to keep him from moving too much, and started to explore with just his fingertips, dancing and gliding across muscles and hair and skin – ghosting over his nipples, which weren't really at all sensitive, but everything was a live wire for Blaine right now, so he arched into the touch regardless. What really set him groaning was when Kurt stroked beneath his ribs, along his side, and then just above his hipbones.

He hadn't even known about those areas, and Kurt's smile was triumphant as he massaged, then pressed, then lightly stroked and traced, and then did it all over again, lingering when Blaine let out his loudest gasps. A hard touch followed by a quick kiss to his side, and Blaine's whole body twitched and quivered. _Oh no, no no_ – he grabbed onto Kurt's shoulders, forcing him up to look him in the eye, preventing him from continuing.

Kurt was breathing heavily, his lips red and moist, and his expression both dazed and intent. Blaine tried to remember how to form words, and it took him a few minutes to string them together coherently once he did. "I, I know you want to be in control, but can I take a turn for bit? Is that . . . okay with you?" He blushed and looked down at his plaid pyjama pants, and then back up, with a crooked smile.

Kurt had been tilting his head in question, but he followed Blaine's gaze, and his expression was simultaneously fond and amused. "Okay." He gingerly eased up off of Blaine, allowing himself to be kissed down into the mattress. In no time at all their positions were reversed, and Blaine was careful to keep his hips from pressing against Kurt's, just as Kurt had been doing. Because otherwise, this would end all too quickly, and he did _not_ want that – hence his need to temporarily take the reigns.

However, he did end up with his hands under Kurt's shirt only a few seconds after they got themselves comfortable. A few seconds after that, he was parting their mouths to look at his boyfriend questioningly, asking, "Can I . . .?"

Kurt nodded without hesitation, something that made Blaine dizzy for a time. He struggled with the grey shirt before forcing himself to concentrate on the action itself, and not the end result. Within seconds, Kurt was topless underneath him, and he wasn't crossing his arms or cringing, like he had the first time. He wasn't turning red _all the way down_ like he had the second. He was just lying there, a bit of pink and anxiety tinging his features, but mostly contentment and excitement as Blaine wasted little time staring and set about exploring with his hands, following the same paths he had when he'd been putting sunscreen on Kurt a month ago; had it really been that long since he'd been able to see this? Yes, yes it had, because Kurt had been mildly burned at some other pool-party Blaine had sadly not been in attendance for, and thus had spent the rest of the summer in many layered T-shirts and the like, and his mind interrupted his reminiscing with an internal exclamation: _oh, never mind that, touch him, touch him!_

Kurt's eyes had fluttered the instant Blaine had splayed his hands out on his chest. As he'd explored, Kurt had started moving a little; his hands were twisting in the sheets, his legs kept coming up then back down, and his hips shifted. Blaine felt them brush against the inside of his thighs as his hands and fingers roamed the pale skin beneath them – and the smatterings of golden brown hair that Kurt had, that he knew _no one_ other than him was aware of. That, combined with Kurt's hips rolling as he cupped them gently, that was _it_.

He fell on Kurt gracelessly, causing him to let out a brief _oof_ as he did so, but that was fine, because then he was pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Kurt's neck. It had him exhaling sharply, a high-pitched sigh, and Blaine swallowed it up before Kurt could close his mouth again. He ended it abruptly, Kurt protesting with soft sounds and a slight tossing of his head, but then he was throwing his head back and gasping as Blaine pressed another open-mouthed kiss to his skin, this time right onto the centre of his chest.

He kept going. He sucked and traced his tongue around _all_ of Kurt's chest, until Kurt was writhing uncontrollably and Blaine had to pin his arms down to stop him from rolling and shaking right off the bed. Kurt's skin wasn't completely flawless – there were freckles, and the odd scar, and bumps beneath his lips and tongue, but it was all the more _amazing_ because everything he discovered was something _new_ and he laved attention onto those areas to better memorize them. He knew he was leaving marks, but he _did not _care. Or rather, he did, but not that Kurt would likely be pissed at him in the morning – he cared about the idea of mouth-shaped bruises littering Kurt's skin. His mouth. On Kurt's skin. He moaned at the thought, while sucking another mark low beneath Kurt's ribs. Kurt's moans and gasps were turning into small cries, high and low, and _loud_.

Blaine hadn't known he could be so out of control, but _fuck_. He was _swearing in his head_. He hardly ever did that. Kurt's skin was shining from a combination of sweat and saliva, and it was odd how neither he or Kurt seemed bothered by it – but then again, no it wasn't, because it was so crazy, sexy and hot. Blaine licked a long, _long _stripe from Kurt's hipbone up, and the way Kurt shook and yelped as he did so . . . He stopped beneath Kurt's nipple, which he'd left alone – he hadn't really thought much about them, mostly because his own were unremarkable when touched, but when he'd been smoothing the white sunscreen into Kurt's own white skin, he recalled accidently brushing by them, and Kurt's full-body shudder.

Was this going too far, maybe? He didn't know what Kurt's plan was for the night, and he'd already sort of disrupted it by taking control out of his hands. He glanced up at Kurt, who had his eyes screwed shut, his mouth parted as he breathed harshly. After a second of staring, those beautiful, indescribable eyes flickered open, staring into Blaine's, and Kurt smiled, bright and ecstatic.

"You can keep going, Blaine. Please. _Please_."

Blaine smiled back and then kissed the small, dusky pink nipple beneath him, quickly and lightly. Kurt's reaction was a surprised sounding squeal and his head flinging back against the pillows. "Oh – that . . . that . . . _oh_ . . ." Kurt trailed off, and Blaine suddenly realized that neither of them had said more than a handful of words since they started this. Actually, considering all the talking they did on a daily basis, that did make sense, because they pretty much knew everything there was to know about their thoughts on these types of situations, due to several highly awkward conversations.

"Blaine?" Kurt whispered, hoarse and wide-eyed. "What are you . . . are you _spacing out_ on me?"

"Hm? No, _no_, sorry, sorry, I just . . . okay, yes, but only because my brain is absolutely _not_ working at full capacity right now."

"Clearly." He managed to sound so dry and sarcastic even while sweaty and debauched. It had Blaine smiling because that was _his_ Kurt. "Want to come back now? Or shall we shelve this away for a later –"

Blaine bent down and _licked_ at the same nipple, and Kurt ended on a moan. His hands, which had been clenching at his sides, wrinkling the sheets hopelessly, now flew up to the back of Blaine's head, twisting into his damp curls. Blaine smiled smugly to himself, then licked again, flicking with the tip of his tongue before encircling it with his lips and sucking – gently. Kurt's high, breathy sounds were on going, never ceasing by this point. He tried sucking a little harder, but Kurt pulled at his hair, wheezing out, "Too much, _too much_. _Hurts_."

He was _that_ sensitive. Noted. What's more, _hot_. So _fucking hot_. It was a miracle beyond miracles that he hadn't exploded already at the ever-increasing hotness of this whole damn encounter (or it may have been that he'd _taken care of himself_, while waiting for his parents to go to their room and allow him the opportunity to escape). Whatever the reason for it, he thanked the universe . . . and then grinned wickedly up at Kurt before rubbing his moist lips against Kurt's other, neglected nipple, licking fast and hard as Kurt burst out with a, "Oooh, oh _fuck_! Blaine, _oh my God_!"

Blaine's head flew up, because he'd _never, ever, __**ever**_ heard Kurt swear like that. Furthermore, he had to jump away, because _that_, on top of all the contact, and pressing and yeah, Blaine was suddenly sure he would explode, right then, because Kurt had just said 'fuck,' all desperate and broken and that was all Blaine was ever going to touch himself to in the future. No amount of porn (that he hadn't watched in months, anyway) was going to ever compare to _that_. And all of this, all of Kurt. He was gasping a little himself, surveying his handy-work – wow, he had managed a lot of hickies. Kurt was going to lose it when he realized.

"Blaine." Kurt sat up swiftly and hugged him suddenly, and Blaine flailed, not sure what was happening, but returned the hug on impulse. "Blaine, _thank you_."

He blinked, waiting for Kurt to elaborate. They stayed in that embrace, and Blaine closed his eyes after a while, silent and cozy, feeling so content despite the fire rushing through his veins, so right and _at home_. Eventually Kurt did speak again, after kissing his earlobe. "Thank you for being here and . . . loving me."

Blaine smiled, wide and giddy. He kissed Kurt's neck, tightening their hug. "You're welcome forever, Kurt. And thank you for letting me be here, loving you." He squeezed him, and leaned back, feeling his heart slowing, gradually coming down though he was still turned on, but that was irrelevant. Kurt was stroking his hair, and looking at him as if he was _everything_. Blaine was more than happy with their night, and willing to cuddle and sleep now. He stretched, grinning at Kurt while running a hand through his hair. "Did you want to set the alarm? What time is Finn –"

Before he knew what was happening, he was flung down, staring up at Kurt's ceiling in shock, and then at Kurt as he loomed over him. The smirk on his boyfriend's face was both happy and sexy, and Blaine _stopped breathing_ as Kurt settled his weight onto Blaine's thighs, rocking forward tantalizing.

"I had a _plan_, Blaine – let me execute it," Kurt said firmly and coupling it with a few more shifts of his hips.

Blaine's eyes were so wide they stung at the corners, and when Kurt leaned down to kiss him, he may have muttered some nonsense words into his mouth. Kurt laughed a little, and then let his tongue muffle any other attempts at speaking Blaine might make. Which he couldn't. Maybe ever again. Kurt had officially destroyed his brain.

Then Kurt shifted up, and up so that their hips were in line, and the thin cotton pants they were wearing were so _thin_ and Blaine could feel _so much._ They'd avoided this kind of contact since Blaine's incident three months ago, and he couldn't, he couldn't _think_ . . . Blaine cried out as Kurt started moving.

"I know," Kurt gasped, rocking down, his hands dropping onto Blaine's chest, bracing himself. "Please, Blaine, hold on a bit."

Blaine's head thrashed, and he pushed out his words after a struggle with his brain, which was just _not_ cooperating. "God, Kurt, I don't think . . . it's not . . . oh my God, I _can't_."

Kurt huffed out a short laugh that ended on a moan. He stopped in his motions, seemingly gathering himself, and staring down at Blaine, breathing heavily. "Try, as long as you can."

Blaine nodded, though he knew he was already burning red in the face, and everything almost _hurt_ from the strain of holding back. Kurt was maintaining his stillness, adjusting his legs a little more comfortably on either side of Blaine. When he at last started moving, Blaine's jaw dropped and his eyes widened to painful proportions again.

Blaine had seen Kurt perform live – now as a Cheerio and a member of the New Directions. He'd YouTubed many, many other performances, and had a good idea of what kind of a dancer Kurt was, and how he could _move_. More specifically, how he could move his _hips_.

That was _nothing_ compared to having Kurt roll and pitch _on top of him, into him_. Kurt's hips snapped and made perfect, grinding circles, his abs flexing and straining, undulating as his hips did, and it was _mind-fucking-blowing_. Blaine wheezed and begged, silently or not, he didn't know, he didn't _care_. His lashes fluttered, his eyes threatening to roll back into his head, but he forced himself to watch, to see this – because feeling it was one thing, but _seeing_ it was breaking him apart in the best way ever.

Kurt's muscles (he'd become so defined this summer, and his _shoulders_, so broad), were all straining, but it was his stomach that drew Blaine's gaze, and then those hips as they forced down, _hard_, and then he could both see and feel the hard press of him, lining up and grinding down against his own, and holy _crap_, this was how Blaine Anderson was going to die. And it was going to be _glorious_.

Kurt picked up speed, something which Blaine hadn't thought possible, not while still keeping his movement perfectly circular and so . . . His mind failed to come up with a word, and Kurt's lashes were stuck together with _tears_ as he moaned out Blaine's name, followed by, "_Almost_ . . ."

It seemed like Kurt wanted them to come together, which was frankly not very likely, but Blaine wanted to try. His hands had been alternating between grasping (possibly _ripping_) the sheets at his side and flinging up to tangle in his own hair – but he finally allowed himself to do what he'd wanted since Kurt first starting moving and driving him insane. He grasped Kurt's hips, feeling the motion, the flow and ripple of his skin and abs as his thumbs stretched to brush across his stomach, and then he thrust up.

Kurt desperate little noises went up several notches in volume, and they couldn't get a matching rhythm going (_that's all right_, Blaine's scattered brain spoke up randomly, _you can so practise this again later, maybe even as soon as this is over_). It didn't matter – Kurt kept going faster, finally a little sloppy even, and at one point he slid a little too forward and Blaine was pressed up against his ass, which _did things to him_. Kurt slid back and his eyes widened as Blaine thrust up and held himself there as Kurt came down sharply. Kurt threw his head back and cried out, collapsing forward, hips moving, grinding down against him harsh and fast two or three times more before slowly stilling.

The weight of him, the sound of him, the _everything_ of him had Blaine's own desperate cry renting through the air as he wrapped a leg around Kurt's hip, thrusting up twice more as he felt lights explode behind his eyes, and everything went away – he couldn't hear, or see anything for an untold amount time as he shivered out the last remnants of his pleasure, and melted down into the mattress.

He did not know when or how he got back his hearing, but eventually the muffled cotton buzzing that had been blocking his ears faded, and Kurt was murmuring, turning his head and quieting again. They lay there, Kurt on top of him, covering him completely, his head on the pillow next to Blaine's. Everything ached beautifully, and he wanted to just curl into a ball around Kurt and sleep, but they would be so uncomfortable if they didn't change pants.

He nudged Kurt gently. "Hey." He ran a hand through those sweat-darkened brown locks, smiling to himself. Kurt hummed and opened his eyes. They were so close Blaine could barely focus but he didn't move back. "We should clean up, go to sleep."

Kurt's eyes cleared and he braced his forearms on either side of Blaine's body, lifting himself up just enough to collapse onto the bed next to him, still close. "You are very right. Or, we could just sleep and do the cleaning up tomorrow?"

His eyes were already at half-mast as he spoke, but Blaine shook his head, shoving him playfully. "No way. You're going to wake up and be very, very annoyed that I didn't insist that you clean up before. I want totally unhindered morning snuggles – otherwise you'll make us get up to shower and be all presentable."

His boyfriend glared balefully, but rolled out of bed. He watched as Kurt disappeared into the bathroom with a fresh pair of shorts and pyjama bottoms. He even heard the shower running, albeit briefly. In less than fifteen minutes, Kurt was out and sitting back down on the bed, fully clothed once more, an echo of Blaine's earlier position. Way earlier. Before they'd just done what they'd done.

_Oh wow, we just, we just did . . . that. _

Quite suddenly, despite the lightness and easiness of minutes before, things got tense, both awkward and not. Kurt was happy, Blaine could tell, but he also couldn't quite meet his eyes, and his hands fidgeted on his lap. Blaine wasn't much better – he didn't know, exactly, what he was supposed to say now. Something romantic? Something teasing and not at all serious? Or maybe silence was the best way to go?

"I love you," he blurted out, because really, that seemed to be the solution to everything. Kurt started, staring at him with both eyebrows up.

"I love you too," he said after a moment's consideration, and then he broke into small, but wonderful smile. "And that was . . . probably the most amazing experience of my life."

"Mine too," Blaine agreed readily, sitting up to brush his fingertips across Kurt's cheek. "Mostly because it was with you. I couldn't imagine doing that with anyone else."

Kurt's smile widened. "Not even Ewan McGregor?"

"Obi-who?" Blaine said, laughing and swooping in to steal a kiss. "And I'm going to take my turn and . . . um, I'm going to need an extra pair of PJ pants."

Kurt acquiesced happily, and in no time at all, they were both snuggled in bed, shower-fresh, in comfy pyjamas, and yawning intermittently as they talked.

"We'll need to do some laundry before my parents get home tomorrow afternoon," Kurt spoke into Blaine's chest.

"Okay," Blaine said, stifling yet another jaw cracking yawn. "What time is it?"

Kurt shifted to glance over his shoulder at his bedside clock. "Hmm, it's one thirty."

Blaine's brow furrowed as he did some quick mental math. "Are you saying that our entire . . . thing, lasted for a grand total of . . . twenty some odd minutes? Thirty, tops. Even including our journey up the stairs?"

Kurt half-shrugged from his position. "If you don't count the clean-up time, then yes. I wasn't expecting even that much, to be honest."

"Hey!" Blaine smacked his shoulder, and Kurt giggled tiredly.

"I wasn't just referring to you, Blaine, I include myself in that assessment. And you have to admit that those twenty, thirty minutes felt _a lot longer_ when we were in the middle of it all."

He thought about that, and nodded against Kurt's hair. "I suppose you're right. And those were the best twenty minutes of my life, as we've already stated."

"There you go," Kurt murmured, sounding more than half way to falling asleep. "We'll work on stamina later."

Blaine felt his eyes snap open at that, not having realized they'd shut until that moment. "How soon is 'later'?"

"It's not right this second, if that's what you're thinking." Kurt sounded partially amused, but mostly exhausted. "Sleep, Blaine."

He huffed good-naturedly, kissing the top of Kurt's head and wrapping his arms around him loosely. His eyes slid shut again, and even with the perfectly detailed and breath-quickening replay of the night's events playing beneath his closed lids, Blaine fell asleep quickly and deeply.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

He woke up slowly at first – becoming dimly aware of light despite his closed eyes. Of warmth. Of comfort and ease.

Then he felt the body he was wrapped around take in a sudden, deep breath – and Blaine remembered Kurt, remembered falling asleep with him in his arms, remembered what they had done . . . At which point, he became suddenly and instantly wide awake. His eyes fluttered open, immediately seeking out the vision that was Kurt, inches away and so achingly beautiful in sleep.

He lifted himself up onto his elbow, as slowly and gently as he could so as not to disturb his slumbering boyfriend. At some point in the night, Kurt had ended up curled into Blaine, as opposed to on top of him, and right now he was half on his side, face turned towards Blaine's on the pillow, looking so, so touchable. And gorgeous. Blaine loved all of Kurt's many looks and outfits, he did, but this – this relaxed, simple version of Kurt – it struck at his heart in ways he didn't fully understand.

He smiled down at him, lifting a hand to brush some of Kurt's bangs off his forehead, indulging in a few light strokes across that soft brown hair. His hand fell away soon enough, because he didn't want to wake him, wanted to enjoy this silent contemplation for a few more minutes. His eyes fell upon a dark red, purplish mark on Kurt's neck, and Blaine's lips tugged even further upwards at the sight. He spotted another just at the edge of where the loose, wide collar of Kurt's shirt exposed a small bit of his chest. Blaine bit his lip, knowing there were probably many more littering Kurt's torso – he wondered if he could maybe persuade Kurt to take off his shirt again, because he wanted to see. _Needed_ to see.

A finger reached out and touched, brushed, against that mark, partially hidden by Kurt's grey shirt. It was hardly more than a light caress, brief and soft, but it had Kurt sighing, moving closer to Blaine, his forehead pushing into Blaine's chest. Blaine grinned and did it again – he was done with watching his boyfriend sleep, lovely as it was. His finger pressed in with more pressure, and Kurt made a muffled sound against Blaine's shirt before pulling back minutely, eyes blinking open gradually. It took him some time to focus, for the haziness of sleep to clear from his expression, but when it did, a smile broke out, shy, familiar and beaming.

"I don't think I've ever woken up to a better sight. Ever."

Blaine leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose. "I was just thinking the same thing."

Kurt reached up a hand from beneath the covers, running his fingers over Blaine's sleep ruffled curls, his gaze taking on a bit of awe. "You are so unbelievably gorgeous. Are you mine, really?" Blaine flushed proudly at that – at the blatant admiration in Kurt's eyes. He would have preened, but wanted to answer Kurt's question first and foremost.

"Yes, really – you're never getting rid of me." Blaine flopped down onto the pillows, snuggling until he was eye level with Kurt, both of them on their sides and facing each other with silly, love struck smiles on their faces. "I feel the sudden urge to tell you that I love you."

Kurt's eyes were still slightly sleep-heavy, but they gleamed and glittered at that, his cheeks turning that shade of red Blaine was so intimate with. "You should never deny that urge. Give in, Blaine, give in, you know you want to."

"Okay then – I love you, Kurt. Oh, and good morning." He grinned, reaching up to slide fingers into Kurt's own dishevelled locks. Kurt captured that hand before it got to stroke more than once or twice, bringing it down and it holding in the small space that lay between them.

"Good morning, Blaine. I love you too," he said sweetly, with love and affection, and all those other fluffy things that had Blaine wondering again at his life.

After a few moment's quiet, Blaine suddenly leapt up, rolling Kurt onto his back and hugging him altogether too tightly, managing to slide his arms beneath Kurt's torso, squeezing him as hard as he could. "God this is so, so _awesome_. Is it dumb that I feel so awesome? No, no it isn't, because we are awesome, and what we did was awesome, and everything is _awesome_!"

"And that word is now retired for the day," Kurt coughed out, breath uneven and wheezy. "Blaine, honey, you're constricting my lungs a bit here."

Blaine wriggled enough to get his arms out from beneath his boyfriend, but refused to move from on top of him. Instead, he folded his arms on Kurt's chest, resting his chin on them, their faces no more than two scant inches apart. It took them both less than a minute to realize that their lower bodies were pressed together in highly interesting ways. Kurt's flush hadn't faded, though it took on a new meaning as he gazed up at Blaine through eyes that were heavy-lidded, though no longer from sleep.

"I'm not feeling a sudden urge to run and hide in the bathroom," Kurt said quietly, intently. "Are you?"

Blaine lifted his head up, shaking it quickly. "No. Not at all."

Then Kurt made a face. "And I really wouldn't mind a repeat of last night, but may I suggest a quick run to that bathroom regardless? Only for long enough to brush our teeth."

He was all set to counter this argument, but he took a moment to swallow, and it wasn't the best tasting thing in the world – he was sure he wouldn't mind it coming from Kurt, but he didn't want to inflict it on his boyfriend. He rolled off him and the bed, jumping to his feet and offering a hand. "Shall we?"

It took them a grand total of two minutes to brush their teeth – and he wouldn't have thought that daily habit could be made sexy (and it still sort of wasn't) but when one was turned on enough, their senses apparently took almost any audio or visual input and turned it into stimulation.

They fell into bed together, and obviously reading each other's mind, because they assumed the exact position they had been in before rushing to freshen their breath. Kurt swept in, tasting the minty-freshness of Blaine's mouth before he could say or do anything. He moaned lightly, leaning so Kurt didn't have to crane his neck upwards. They kissed languidly, thoroughly, for another few minutes before Blaine's hips jerked down reflexively into Kurt's.

They thrust without any urgency, breathing each other's air as the pressure increased, their hearts pounding irregularly. Kurt's eyes kept flicking shut, and then opening to stare into Blaine's, as if he couldn't quite keep them focused. They kissed, separated, then kissed again. Just as it was building to its glorious conclusion Kurt stilled Blaine's hips with his hands, parting their lips with a quiet smacking sound.

Blaine blinked down at him, his voice a whisper as he asked, "What is it?"

Kurt sucked in a deep breath before rolling Blaine over until he was lying next to him – but made no move to slide on top. Instead, he pushed in close to his side and rested a hand on his stomach. "Can I . . . just over your pants? I want to . . . feel."

There was nowhere, no time, no situation in which Blaine would say 'no' to that. He nodded quickly, and then held his breath as Kurt glanced down, inching his hand closer and closer. Blaine's eyes shut and he groaned out obscenely as Kurt's hand finally rested on top of him. At first, it just rested there, steadily driving Blaine crazy, but feeling so good that he didn't want to say anything that might cause Kurt to move away. He did open his eyes to watch though, because he wanted to be sure that Kurt was, in fact, okay with this.

And Kurt was. His expression was only barely tinged with nerves – his cheeks were blushing, but his eyes were curious as they narrowed intently. Then Blaine flicked his gaze back down to that pale hand pressing between his legs. Kurt rubbed up and down once, and Blaine's breath felt like it was punched out of him. Then Kurt used two fingers to trace the outline of Blaine, eventually getting his whole hand in on it – curling around what he could, through the material, and then settling for rubbing again once he was satisfied with his information gathering. Throughout Kurt's explorations, Blaine felt himself spiralling higher and higher, his breaths growing quicker and out of control. He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, and he started letting out needy moans, pleading wordlessly for _more_ and _harder_.

Kurt must have understood him, because a second later that hand was rubbing, down and hard enough to feel _amazing_, but then – "Ow, Kurt, a little less," he wheezed out, wincing.

"Oh, sorry." Kurt flushed with embarrassment, but he didn't seem to dwell on it. Instead, he resumed, rubbing, stroking, curling, and repeating the cycle faster and faster, until Blaine's head was thrashing on his pillow.

He rasped out, "Now, God, I'm going to –"

Kurt pulled away abruptly, and he moved to shift himself on top of Blaine – but Blaine stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Wait, why don't I . . ."

He went to slide a hand down but Kurt grabbed it before it could reach its destination. "No."

"No?" Blaine stared at him worriedly.

Kurt shook his head, smiling tentatively. "I just . . . not yet. Soon, maybe. I don't mind – in fact I love – touching you, but . . . sorry, I just . . ." He waved a hand about helplessly and Blaine sort of understood. It was one thing to reach out and touch someone – but to leave yourself vulnerable and open to that touch . . .

Blaine felt a little . . . not hurt, not disappointed . . . maybe a little sad, that Kurt wasn't ready to be vulnerable while Blaine made him feel good, but that was fine – because last night they'd discovered how to make each other feel _amazing_ and Blaine was ready to feel that again.

He pulled Kurt on top of him and he was so, so close, and Kurt had clearly gotten more out of his curious explorations than Blaine thought, because within seconds he was just as on edge as Blaine, and riding Blaine's upwards thrusts with low, needy sounds and hands gripping Blaine's shoulders. Their chests remained pressed together, their hearts wildly pounding against their rib cages, and Blaine could feel Kurt's heart, and he knew Kurt must be able to feel his, and everything was sweaty and _hot_ again, yes, _yes_.

A minute later Blaine was sighing out Kurt's name against his mouth as his hips rubbed up frantically, and Kurt was gone a moment later, with Blaine's name falling off his lips, and soft, wonderful, broken declarations of love following as he rode his orgasm to the last.

Kurt remained on top of him, heavy in such a marvellous way. He just _fit_, limbs entangled with Blaine's, chest to chest, hip to hip. His face was buried in the pillow, cheek brushing against Blaine's. After several silent moments, he turned his head towards Blaine, murmuring directly into his ear, "So much for working on our stamina."

Blaine snorted, arms coming up to wrap around Kurt's back. "Hmm, well I guess we're just going to need a lot of practise. Do you think you could maybe suggest another potential weekend outing for your parents? And get Finn to . . . where is he again?"

"He is currently crashing an empty room at Sam's motel with the other guys for one last, grand hooplah before he moves. Sam and I had out own private good-byes already, so I told Finn to go on without me. And here we are."

Blaine tried to look Kurt in the eye, but they were so close together it was uncomfortable to try and focus – his faced blurred into an indistinct blob. " 'Private good-byes'?"

Kurt kissed him easily from their current position, pulling back slightly. "He wanted to thank me, without the others present, for everything Quinn and I did for him. We had a nice lunch, and a brief shopping trip, during which I allowed him to pick out his own good-bye present – though with some serious input from myself, of course. There's no need to be jealous."

"I'm not," Blaine said honestly – Sam was straight, and also a friend, so even if he had latent homosexual tendencies, he knew he wouldn't try anything on Kurt. "Sam's a great guy. I was only curious."

"Hmm," Kurt hummed, eyes closing.

Blaine tapped his back with the hands he had resting on it. "Hey, you can't fall asleep again – you've got some clean-up and laundry to do before Finn gets here."

Kurt's lids flicked up, and he glared half-heartedly at Blaine. "Fine. Be the responsible one."

He followed this up with a messy, passionate kiss that left Blaine gasping and grasping at Kurt – they could surely indulge in _one_ more time before – but there was a loud slam and then, "Kurt! Dude, I'm home! Hi Blaine! Man, you parked _way_ crooked – you should move before Mom and Burt get home! Hey, did you make any breakfast yet?"

Kurt dropped his head onto Blaine's shoulder, sighing long-sufferingly. "It's been a lovely time, Blaine. And now, it is over." He sat up, forcing Blaine to let out a quiet, protesting noise, which had Kurt smiling and pressing one last, intense, wet kiss to Blaine's open mouth before pulling away wistfully. "All right, do you mind if I take the first shower? Then, while you're showering, I can get started on the laundry. And breakfast."

Blaine nodded to this, falling back onto the bed as Kurt flitted about the room, gathering up a towel and picking up an outfit he'd apparently selected the night before. He gave Blaine a happy smile before disappearing into the bathroom. Blaine rolled onto his side, closing his eyes – he could hear Finn banging around doing God only knew what, and the sound of the shower running. He grimaced; the mess in his pants made things a little less than comfortable, but he knew that he'd be taking care of it soon so it was easy to start drifting off again.

"BLAINE ANDERSON!"

He sat bolt upright, and then practically fell out of the bed, sheets and blankets snaked around his legs, tripping him up. He stumbled as Kurt whipped open the bathroom door, eyes narrowed dangerously, as Blaine stuttered out, "W-What is –" And then his own eyes fell upon Kurt's bare chest and . . . _oh_.

He had to smother a licentious, satisfied grin, because he knew Kurt would probably kill him if he saw it.

Kurt gesticulated sharply at his exposed skin. "What in the hell are these, Blaine?"

Blaine swallowed hard, still restraining the smile that was just beneath the surface. "Uh, those would be hickies."

"Not just hickies, Blaine – _lots_ of hickies. A veritable explosion – a break-out of hickies, if you will!" He was glowering and his hands were on his hips and that was perfect. Because Blaine could see quite plainly (and awesomely) that he had outdone himself. There were maybe a dozen marks scattered about Kurt's chest, the lowest just to the right of one of his hipbones, the highest right above his collar bone. They were all roughly the same size, varying in intensity of colour (light red to a dark purplish sort of red), and so mind-bendingly _hot_.

"I fail to see what is so funny about this," Kurt hissed out, his foot tapping against the floor.

Apparently the smile had broken out despite Blaine's best efforts, and so he kicked the blankets off his legs, walking over and placing his own hands on Kurt's hips. "Sorry, but, um, apparently my inner caveman is really loving this – you look _incredible_." He backed this statement up by latching onto the mark nearest Kurt's collarbone, sucking once, quickly, before pulling back and grinning – distinctly _un_apologetic.

Kurt's eyes had glazed over somewhat, his mouth parted as he exhaled with a shiver. Then he seemed to force himself out of his haze and glared again, jabbing a finger into Blaine's chest. "Do you have any idea how severely you've limited my 'last week of summer' wardrobe choices? You're just lucky that I'm only going to have to sacrifice maybe one or two outfits – otherwise, I'd be forced to take it out of your hide."

"Sounds like fun." Blaine laughed as Kurt hit him across the shoulder.

"Hey, Kurt." There was a knock on the door, and before either Kurt or Blaine could shout at Finn not to come in, the boy was sticking his head in, waving at Blaine and entering fully. "Sorry, man, but I think I might've melted some – oh, holy crap, what the hell happened to your chest?"

Blaine opened his mouth to say something, anything, but instead his face burned a bright red and words failed him. Kurt was no better, though he did manage to say, "Nothing, Finn! Get out, I need to shower, and –"

"Man, that looks nasty – is it, like, an allergic reaction or something? Do I need to get some of that anti-whatever cream we have, or –" Finn came closer and Blaine shut his eyes tight as the taller boy stopped suddenly. "Oh . . . _ooooh_."

"Finn . . ." Kurt's tone was full of warning. Blaine risked opening his eyes again, and saw Finn smirking at them both.

"I get it – nice pyjamas, Blaine. I see you stayed the night. Without Burt's permission and with no one else in the house. Hmm, I thought that wasn't allowed? I'm pretty sure that's not allowed, Kurt."

"Yes, Finn, good for you – you've finally caught me breaking the rules, now if you don't mind –"

"Nuh-uh – no way." Finn held up a hand. "I want something. There's got to be something I can get out of this. Brother rules, man – otherwise, you are so, so dead when Burt and mom get home."

"You jerk," Kurt ground out. "Fine – the internet-browsing history? I will never hold that over you again. Ever. Good enough?"

"I don't know, this is way, way bigger than that," Finn stroked his bare chin like every cheesy movie villain that ever was. "You take over my dish duty for the next two weeks _and_ make me one of those giant, bacon-cheese-egg-hash brown breakfast sandwiches of death and we have a deal."

Kurt growled, nostrils flaring, but he stuck out a hand, and Finn shook it happily.

"Awesome! 'Kay, I'll, um, try and clean up the mess I already made, and wait for you in the kitchen!" He shot Blaine a wide, teasing smile. "See ya down there, Blaine!" And promptly bounced out of the room.

Blaine smiled tentatively at Kurt. "It could have been worse – it could have been your parents."

Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes. I know. And I also know where Finn keeps all his dirty magazines, so it's not like I'm completely without ammunition. Now, if you please, I would very much like to get clean so I can get going and make my darling stepbrother the ultimate 'Death by Cholesterol' breakfast."

Blaine captured an arm before Kurt could disappear into the bathroom, pulling him in close and kissing those frowning lips gently and persistently. After a second Kurt kissed back, and they stood there, exchanging soft, tender kisses until Kurt pulled away, looking dazed again.

Blaine lifted a hand to stroke his face. "I would gladly have dealt with your stepmom and dad walking in on us too. Last night – and this morning – were so worth it. Nothing could ever make me regret this. Nothing."

Kurt's eyes were sparkling suspiciously, but his smile was wide. "Me too. I love you."

"I love you." Blaine wondered, even as he said it, if he would ever get tired of saying those words to Kurt – if there were such a thing as saying them too often. But Kurt's brilliant and beautiful smile, the last lingering kiss before he finally went to take his shower – all of it, all of this morning and last night – could only be summed up with those three words.

And partaking in Kurt's Breakfast Death sandwich and omelette dish made him say them all the more, because it was _good_ – he had no idea his boyfriend could make food this fattening and destructive, and so, so mouth-wateringly delicious. There must have been a story behind it all, but Blaine was too busy shovelling massive spoonfuls into his mouth and savouring each bite to ask.

Not long after had Finn abandoned them with a wink, leaving the messy kitchen to their hands, Kurt and Blaine were arms deep in suds, and Kurt was saying, "I have reason number eight for you to transfer."

"Yeah?" Blaine raised an eyebrow, matched with a knowing smile. "It can't be more of what we did last night, because I think that's along the same lines as your reason number two. And number one. And number four. That's cheating."

"My reason number eight," Kurt said, flicking him with soapy water as he spoke, "is that . . . I will get to regulate most of your daily intake of food – I saw how much you enjoyed that grease and fat filled monstrosity Finn forced me to make. Somehow, I'm thinking all the salads and fat-free yogurt you were eating at Dalton were _not_ your usual fare."

Blaine blushed and Kurt nodded, chuckling to himself – he'd been caught. All right, so maybe he'd been subconsciously – and then consciously, after a certain kiss – mirroring Kurt's diet. He'd seen the way he'd wrinkle his nose, or look faintly disgusted as the other boys chowed down on food he deemed inappropriate and heart-attack inducing (while Dalton offered many, many healthy options, there was the occasional greasy hamburger and fries combination and other such things to placate the male teenaged stomachs they had to keep filled). So, maybe Blaine had been trying to impress Kurt. And now Kurt knew that. He hunched in his shoulders as Kurt nudged him teasingly before resuming his washing.

"I am not saying you can not occasionally indulge," Kurt conceded, "but if you eat such things every day, then you will not last past twenty-five, and I intend to keep you around for much longer than that."

Blaine's cringe of embarrassment turned into a straightened back and sly grin. "Is that so? Just how long would you like me for, Kurt?"

Kurt paused in scrapping at chunks of burned bacon from Finn's earlier kitchen failure. He faced Blaine, and though he seemed self-conscious, he said, artlessly, "For as long as you'll have me, Blaine."

_Forever_. Blaine stared at Kurt, and it was on the tip of his tongue . . . and screw it, why shouldn't he say it? "Then, I guess I'll have to start taking better care of myself if I want to keep up with you when we're old and still fabulous."

The absolutely elated expression on Kurt's face warmed Blaine from head to toe, and he knew his face reflected that.

And it was with that same warmth tickling his fingers and toes, embraced around his heart, that Blaine adjusted the finishing touches of his outfit as he strolled confidently into McKinley High a week later. He was seeking out the boy for whom he would eat rabbit food, attend proms, withstand tense family dinners and all manner of awkward talks on sex, and deal with potential competition trying to steal him away; for whom would transfer schools for, would wait a year for and apply to universities in New York for – because Blaine didn't care how impossible, how cheesy, how unrealistic and adolescent it was; he believed that Kurt Elizabeth Hummel was _it_ for him, and would be _it_ for the rest of his life.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Why do birds suddenly appear_

_Every time you are near?_

_Just like me, they long to be_

_Close to you_

_Why do stars fall down from the sky_

_Every time you walk by?_

_Just like me, they long to be_

_Close to you_

_On the day that you were born_

_The angels got together_

_And decided to create a dream come true_

_So they sprinkled moon-dust in your hair_

_Of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue_

_That is why all the girls in town_

_Follow you all around_

_Just like me, they long to be_

_Close to you_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Fin_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **And it's over! And so fluffy you could choke on it, wow. Writing romance is hard – so much harder than angst. Neglecting my school readings while finishing this was especially hard ;D

The wonderful **JustYourAverageRavenclaw** deserves credit for the Anderson and Hudmel family dinner idea, and **1stkitty **also must be credited for suggesting Blaine gazing down at a sleeping, love-bitten Kurt (which is what eventually gave birth to my first attempt at smut, light though it was). Thanks to you both!

**SO MUCH LOVE **to **ALL **of you who have followed this story, and those of you that have commented and helped reassure me that I wasn't total fail at this romance thing (Oh, **digiMist**, you've been such a blessing, darling, and such a help!) :D Now I'm off to hopefully finish off my neglected WIPs (er, assuming I catch up on all my readings and get a good start on my essays).

The song used throughout this story (and referenced in the title) is _They Long to Be (Close to You) _by The Carpenters.


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